kj^: 




r<^ 









A ^ '\ 



'^■«!=4A,;«!^da«. 














t'l.'-'^^M^.f^h^.^^' 



PRIVATE 



(,Tfi>«rrp i«i'nn,'7r^'Ti?¥TiR\'r?P''Pr 



OF 



WILLIAM COWrER, ESQ. 

(( 

WITH 9F.VEHAI. OF 

HIS MOST INTIMATE FRIENDS. 

NOW FIRST PUBLISHED FROM THE ORIGINALS 

IN THE POSSESSION OF HIS KINSMAN, 

JOHN JOHNSON, LL. D. 
I 

RBCTOn OF YAXUAM WITH WELUOUWE IV NORTOLK 



FIRST AMERICAN EDITION 



PHIUiDELPHM: 

E. LITTEIX, A. SMALL, H. C. CAREY & I. LEA, B. & T. KITE, EDWARD PARKER, 
A. FINLEY, M'CARTY & DAVIS, URLAH HUNT, RENNET & WALTON, AND 
JOHN GRIGG. 

AND COLLINS St HANNAY, NEW YORK. 

William Brown, Printer. 
1824. 



? 



TO 

JOSEPH FOSTER BARHAM, ESQ. 



Allow me, dear Sir, in presenting to the Public these 
hitherto unprinted Letters of the poet Cowper, to indulge 
my privilege as an Editor, and the personal feelings by 
which I am actuated towards yourself, by inscribing them 
to you. The interest attached to the name of Cowper 
will, I trust, render this tribute of respect not unaccepta- 
ble ; while it gratifies me highly to have thus an oppor- 
tunity of assuring you of the grateful regard and sincere 
esteem with which I subscribe myself, 

My dear Sir, 

your obliged and 

affectionate friend, 

J. JOHNSON. 

Yaxham Parsonage, December 10, 1823. 



PREFACE 



BY THE EDITOR. 



The idea of this publication first occurred to me, on 
perusing some letters of Cowper to his estimable 
friend Mr. Hill, which had not appeared in Mr. IFay- 
ley's Life of him. It struck me. that, with the aid of 
a few from other sources, I might be able to present 
the public with an additional collection of those ad- 
mired productions. Through the kindness of the 
Rev. Thomas Bull, Mrs. Unwin, Mrs. Smith, and 
the Rev. Professor Martyn, I was soon supplied with 
materials for that agreeable undertaking; for which I 
beg leave to offer them my grateful acknowledgments. 
To Mrs. Hill I am especially indebted; lier oblig- 
ing communication of the letters above mentioned 
having eventually led to my acquisition of the others. 

As the letters in the present volume are addressed 
to the same persons (with the exception of Mrs. King) 
as those in the former, it may be n^eedless to observe 
that they were equally submitted to the selecting 



YJ PREFACE. 



hand of Mr. Hayley. But, lest the reader should 
suspect, that, having cropped the flower of the collec- 
tion, my lamented friend, the biographer, has left me 
only refuse to present to him, I am desirous of inter- 
posing a few remarks in their favour. 

By far the greater part of them are of a lively de- 
scription, exhibiting frequent niarks of that playful 
humour which is so peculiar to the letters of Cowper, 
and of which Mr. Hayley has preserved so many spe- 
cimens in the former volumes. That, indeed, is the 
only ground on which I can account for his suppres- 
sion of several that will be found in the following 
pages. It was necessary to observe a measure, in the 
admission of letters into his biographical work, and 
not to insert all which he might otherwise approve, 
lest the narrative should be overborne by the episto- 
lary part of his publication. At the same time I am 
ready to concede, that there are some letters, espe- 
cially in the early part of this collection, which were 
probably rejected as comparatively trifling. But as 
these have all, more or less, some characteristic turn, 
either of thought or expression, I have ventured to 
introduce them to the reader's notice. 

A few, and but a few, are of a pohtical nature. 
The subjects, however, of these had so long ceased 
to interest the public, that, having preserved some of 
a similar description, it was not likely that Mr. Hay- 
ley should be tempted to multiply them. But as the 



PREFACE. yii 

reader may be curious to know more of what Cow- 
per thought of the men and measures of those times, 
than his biographer has furnished, I have ventured to 
insert them; especially, as I wish this collection to 
have, as much as may be, the air, both as to opinions 
and events, of a supplen)entary life of the writer. 

And lastly, there are many letters addressed to Mr. 
Newton, with two or three to Mr. Bull, on tlie sub- 
ject of religion; which, though not of general applica- 
tion, but confined to its aspect on the mind of the 
writer, were decidedly worthy of Mr. Hayley's inser- 
tion; and the more so, indeed, on that very account; 
his concern, as biographer, being rather with the in- 
dividual than the community. But these, out of ten- 
derness to the feelings of the reader, I am persuaded, 
and for the gloominess they attach to the writer's 
mind, he has utterly excluded. In doing this, how- 
ever, amiable and considerate as his caution must 
appear, the gloominess which he has taken from the 
mind of Cowper, has the effect of involving his cha- 
racter in obscurity. People read " the Letters" with 
" the Task'^ in there recollection, (and vice vej'sa,) 
and are perplexed. They look for the Cowper of 
each, in the other, and find him not. The corres- 
pondency is destroyed. Hence the character of Cow- 
per is undetermined; mystery hangs over it; and the 
opinions formed of him are as various as the minds 
of the enquirers. That I am not singular in deduc- 



VIU 



PREFACE. 



ing these consequences from the suppression of the 
gloomy, but, in many instances, strikingly pious pas- 
sages, restored in the present Volume, I am warrant- 
ed to assert, on the authority of a highly esteemed 
friend, a man justly valued for hiA attainments in the- 
ological knowledge, and extensively acquainted with 
the state of religious opinions.* In alluding to these 
suppressed letters, he emphatically says, " Cowper 
will never be clearly and satisfactorily understood 
without them, and they should be permitted to exist, 
for the demonstration of the case. I know the impor- 
tance of it, from nu\iierous conversations I have had, 
both in Scotland and England, on this most interesting 
subject. Persons of truly religious principles, as well 
as those of little or no religion at all. have greatly 
erred in their estimate of this great and good man.^' 
Having thus bespoke the reader's attention to these 
restored letters of Cowper to Mr. Newton, on the 
ground of their illustrative tendency, I would engage 
it still further, from a consideration of their beauty. 
And here I account n)}self particularly fortunate, 
in being favoured with the opinion of confessedly one 
of the best judges of composition that this country 
has to boast — the Rev. Robert Hall, of Leicester. In 
a letter addressed to me, on the nineteenth of August 
of the present year, he writes thus: 

* The Rev. Lcgli Richmond 



PREFACE. JX 

" It is quite unnecessary to say that I perused the 
letters with great admiration and dehglit. I have 
always considered the Jotters of Mr. Cowper as the 
finest specimen of the epistolary style in our language; 
and these appear to me of a supeior description to 
the former, possessing as much beauty with more 
piety and pathos. To an air of inimitable ease and 
carelessness, they unite a high degree of correctness, 
such as could result only from the clearest intellect, 
combined with the most finished taste. I have scarce- 
ly found a single word which is capable of being ex- 
changed for a better. 

*■ * * * * 

'' Literary errors I can discern none. The selec- 
tion of words and the structure of the periods are 
inimitable; they present as striking a contrast as can 
well be conceived, to the turgid verbosity which 
passes at present for fine writing, and which bears 
a great resemblance to the degeneracy which marks 
the style of Ammianus Marcellinus, as compared to 
that of Cicero or of Livy. A perpetual effort and 
struggle is made to supply the place of vigour, 
garish and dazzling colours are substituted for chaste 
ornament, and the hideous distortions of weakness for 
native strength. In my humble ppinion, the study of 
Cowper's prose may, on this account, be as useful in 
forming the taste of young people as his poetry." 



X 



PREFACE. 



" Tliat the letters will offord great delight to all 
persons of true taste, and that you will confer a most 
acceptable present on the reading world by publish- 
ing them, will not admit of a doubt." 

To this testimony to the merits of the epistolary 
style of Cowper from so high an authority, it would 
be the extreme of presumption in me to add a sylla- 
ble. There is one subject, however, connected, if 
not with the composition, yet with the matter of tliese 
letters to Mr. Newton, to which I would beg to call a 
few minutes' attention; — the aberration of mind which 
they so painfully develop. To this was indisputably 
owing all the gloominess of the character of Cowper: 
a point which I am the more anxious to establish, as 
it has been erroneously charged on his religious opi- 
nions. But no — the iTnhappiness of this amiable man 
is to be referred to the cause already stated; and that 
again, to an excess of hypochondriacal atfection, induc- 
ed, in the first instance, as I have repeatedly heard a 
deceased friend of his and mine observe, by his having, 
in very early life, improperly checked an erysipelatous 
complaint of the face; which rendered him ever after 
liable to depression of spirits. Under the influence 
of one of these attacks, attended with evident mental 
obliquity, he was impressed with an idea, originating 
in a supposed voice from heaven, that the Author of 
his life had recalled the loan. This was rapidly fol- 
lowed by another, to this effect; — That as he had fail- 



PREFACE. 



XI 



etl to restore it, in the intervening moment, the pun- 
ishment of his disobedience would be everlasting de- 
struction. 

Now, I would ask those who have inadvertently 
charged the unhappiness of this pitiable sufferer on 
his religious opinions, to the operation of what theo- 
logical tenets they can warrantably ascribe the sup- 
position, not only of so preposterous a demand, but of 
a denunciation, under such circumstances, more pre- 
posterous still, as referred to the Supreme Being? — 
It will be readily conceded, I trust, that, as no known 
system of divinity can be justly charged with such 
absurd principles as the above supposition would im- 
ply, so that wMiich Cowper adopted, (whatever it might 
be,) and through the influence of which on his divine 
poem " The Task" he obtained the high eulogium 
of being 

" With more than painter's fancy blest, with lays 
Iloly as saints to heav'n expiring raise," * 

unquestionably cannot. And if this be granted, his 
unhappiness must undoubtedly be referred solely to 
his aberration of mind.f 

* Pursuits of Literature. 

t See more on this subject in the sketch of the Life of Cow- 
per, prefixed to the third volume of his Poems, 8vo edit. p. IT—. 
12mo. p. 19. 



Xil PREFACE, 

Having conscientiously endeavoured, however fee- 
bly, to exculpate the religious opinions of Cowper 
from the charge of originating his mental distress, I 
am anxious to anticipate an important question, in 
reference to the desponding letters. Am I not afraid, 
it may be asked, lest, in affording an indiscriminate 
inspection into the gloomy interior of Cowper's mind, 
I should minister to the melancholy contemplations 
of some depressed spirit, and thus eventually assimi- 
late it to his own? I answer, I should indeed fear it, 
but for the circumstancealready mentioned; the strik- 
ing irregularity of the writer's intellect on the subject 
of his own salvability. This is the frame, if I may so 
express it, in which all his gloomy pictures are con- 
spicuously set; and as they cannot be separated, they 
must be transferred, both or neither, to the mind of 
another. But as experience teaches me that insanity 
is not transferable, so I set my heart at rest as to a 
transfer of the gloom, which in this case resulted 
from it. 

Should the eye, therefore, of any desponding per- 
son meet the letters alluded to, whilst he remembers 
the circumstances under which they were written, let 
him, in the exercise of the virtues, and genuine 
though gloomy piety which they exhibit, anticipate 
a happy issue, sooner or later, out of all his afllictions. 
through the same Hand which delivered Cowper, 



PREFACE. Xiii 

Though sunk *' beneath a rougher sea, 
And whelm'd in deeper gulphs than he. 



'>* 



On casting my eye over one of the former volumes^ 
I discovered that I had accidentally sent a letter to 
the press which was already before the public. I was 
led into this mistake through the inaccuracy either 
of Mr. Hayley's amanuensis, or his printer, in regard 
to dates. Not finding it under his real one of February 
6, 1781, I naturally concluded that it had not been 
printed; but it afterwards appeared, though too late 
to be recalled, under July 6, of the same year. It 
might have been expected, indeed, that, having my- 
self edited the volumes alluded to, I should have been 
aware of its previous insertion; but the truth is, the 
manuscript letters being as familiar to me as the pub- 
lished, and undistinguished in my mind, in preparing 
the former for the press, I depended wholly on the 
dates of the latter. 

.But for the above detection, I should have been 
betrayed into similar repetitions afterwards. I trust, 
however, that through the watchfulness it excited, the 
duplicate above mentioned will prove a solitary in- 
stance. 

From this and other causes, the editing these 
letters has been a work of labour to me ; but it has 
been a pleasant one. It has recalled to my recol- 

* See the affecting lines, entitled " The Castaway." — Cow- 
per's Poems, vol. iii. 



Xiv PREFACE. 

lection times and places, long past and lost sight 
of, but never to be forgotten; and by the help of an 
elegant little volume, in which the scenery about 01- 
ney and Weston is faithfully delineated, has at inter- 
vals, almost beguiled me into an imagination that I 
was still there, and my revered relative with me.* 

Having exercised the mind of the reader with reci- 
tals not of the most enlivening tone, I may have thereby 
unfitted it for an entrance on the sprightly letters at 
the commencement of this volume. As a prelude, 
therefore, to those playful epistolary specimens, I will 
present him with one which, for an obvious reason, 
I could not introduce into the work itself, but which 
may Imd an appropriate insertion here. It not only 
shews, as my obliging friend Mr. Hall observed to me, 
" how gracefully the author could trifle, but displays 
a pleasing wildness of imagination." It is of an older 
date than any of the other letters, having been writ- 
ten when Cowper was a young man in the Temple, 
as a contribution to the " Nonsense Club," of which 
he reminds Mr. Hill in the former collection, and of 
which themselves, Bonnel Thornton, Lloyd, and the 
elder Colman, were members.f 

• " The Rural Walks of Cowper." By J. and H. S. Storer, 
Pentonvillc. 

t Yn]. ii. letter '2'2'2. 



PREFACE, 



XV 



letter from an owl to a bird of paradise. 

Sir, 

I have lately been under some uneasiness at 
your silence, and began to fear that our friends in 
Paradise were not so well as I could wish; but I was 
told yesterday that the pigeon you employed as a car- 
rier, after having been long pursued by a hawk, found 
it necessary to drop your letter, in order to facilitate 
her escape. I send you this by the claws of a distant 
relation of mine, an eagle, who lives on the top of a 
neighbouring mountain. The nights being short at 
this time of the year, my epistle will probably be so 
too; and it strains my eyes not a little to write, when 
it is not as dark as pitch. I am likewise much dis- 
tressed for ink: the blackberry juice which I had 
bottled up having been all exhausted, I am forced to 
dip my beak in the blood of a mouse, which I have 
just caught; and it is so very savoury, that I think in 
my heart I swallow more than I expend in writing. 
A monkey who lately arrived in these parts, is teach- 
ing me and my eldest daughter to dance. The mo- 
tion was a little uneasy to us at first, as he taught us 
to strech our wings wide, and to turn out our toes; 
but it is easier now. I, in particular, am a tolerable 
proficient in a hornpipe, and can foot it very nimbly 
with a switch tucked under my left wing, considering 



XVi PREFACE. 

my years and infirmities. As yoii are constantly 
gazing at the sun, it is no wonder that you complain 
of a weakness in your eyes; how should it be other- 
wise, when mine are none of the strongest, thougrh I 
always draw the curtains over them as soon as he 
rises, in order to shut out as much of his light as pos- 
sible? We have had a miserable dry season, and my 
ivy-bush is sadly out of repair. I shall be obliged to 
you if you will favour me with a shower or two, which 
you can easily do, by driving a few clouds together 
over the wood, and beating them about with your 
wings till they fall to pieces. I send you some of the 
largest berries the bush has produced, for your chil- 
dren to play withaL A neighbouring physician, who 
is a goat of great experience, says they will cure the 
worms; so if they chance to swallow them, you need 
not be frightened. I have lately had a violent fit of 
the pip, which festered my rump to a prodigious de- 
gree. I have shed almost every feather in my tail, 
and must not hope for a new pair of breches till next 
spring; so shall think myself happy if I escape the 
chincough, which is generally very rife in moulting 
season. 

I am, dear Sir, &c. &c. 

Madge. 

P. S. — I hear my character as first minister is a 
good deal censured; but "Let them censure; what 
care I?" 



CONTENTS. 



Pagt 

I'o Joseph HJIl, Kaq. July 3, 1765. Account of Huntingdon - - 25 

To Joseph Hill, Ksq. Aug'. 14, 1765. Expectecl Excursion - - 27 

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Nov. 5, 1765. Agreement with the Hev. W. Un- 

win ....-.--.---28 

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Nov. 8, 1766. Declining- to read Lectures at 

Lyons' Inn .-.-..--.--29 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. Dec. 1, 1765. Entertainment proposed to be 
given to the Students of New Inn ...... 30 

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Oct. 27, 1766. Directing a sale of stock - - 32 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. May 14, 1767. Frog-iess in Gardening' - - 33 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. June 16, 1767 General f^lection - - - 34 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. Oct. 10, 1767. Invitation to Olncy - - - 35 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. .Ian. 21, 1769. On Mr. Hill's late Illness - - 36 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. Jan. 29, 1769. The same subject - - - 37 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. -\ug. 27, 1771. Congratulations on his Mar- 
riage ...---------58 

To Joseph Hill, Esq. June 27, 1772. Declining offers of Service - 38 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. July 2, 1772. Acknowledging Obligations - 39 

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Nov. 5, 1772. Declining an Invitation to London 40 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. Nov. 12, 1776. On Mr. Ashley Cowper's Reco- 
very from a nervous Fever ..---..-40 
To Joseph Hill, Esq April 20, 1777. On Gray's Works - - - 41 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. May 25, 1777 Gray's later Epistles.— West's Let- 
ters ------------42 

To Joseph Hill, Esq. July 13, 1777. Selection of Books - - 42 

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Jan. 1, 1778. Supposed Diminution of Cowper's 
Income ------,-- ---43 

To Joseph Hill, Esq. April 11, 1778. Death of Sir Thomas Hesketh, 

Bart. - - • - - 44 

To Joseph Hill, Esq. May 7, 1778. Raynal's Works - - - 44 

To Joseph Hill, Esq. June 18, 1778. Congratulations on Preferment 45 
To the liev. William Unwin. July, 1779. Remarks on the Isle of Tha- 

net - - - - 46 

To the Rev. William Unwin. July 17, 1779. Advice on Sea-Bathing 47 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. Oct. 2, 1779. With the Fable of the Fine-apple 

and the Bee . - - 48 

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Nov. 14, 1779. With a Poem on the promotion 

of Edward Thurlow, Esq. ..-..---49 
To Mrs. Newton. March 4, 1780. Mr. Newton's removal from Olney 49 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. March 16, 1780. Congratulations on his Profes- 
sional Success 51 

To -Mrs. Newton. June, 1780. Mishap of Tom F -and his Wife. — 

The Doves --.-...----- 53 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. July 8, 1780. The Riots of 1780 - - - 54 
To the liev. John Newton. July 12, 1780. With an Enigma - - 55 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. Aug. 10, 1720. On hi.-, Recreations - - .^7 

C 



xviil CONTENTS*. 

To Joscpli Hill, Esq. Dec. 10, 1780. Argument on a point of Law 58 

To tlie Kcv. John Newton. Dec. 21, 178U. On his Commendations of 
Cowper's Poems ..........59 

To the Rev. John Newton. Jan. 21, 1781. Progress of Error. Mr. 

Newton's Works -- -61 

To the liev. William Unwin. Feb. 6, 1781. On visiting Prisoners - 63 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. Feb. 15, 1781. Catastrophe in the West Indies 64 
To the Hev. John Newton. Feb. 18, 1781. With Table Talk. On Clas- 
sical Literature ..--.....-65 
To Mrs. Hill. Feb. 19, 1781. Acknowledging a Present received - 67 
To the Uev. John Newton. Feb. 25, 1781. Mr. Scott's Curacies - 69 
To the Uev. John Newton. March 5, 1781. Care of Myrtles. Sham 

Fight at Olney - - 72 

To the Rev. John Newton. March 18, 1781. On the Poems of Expos- 
tulation, &c. 74- 

'I'o the Rev. John Newton. April 8, 1781. Requesting a Preface to 
Truth. Enigma on a Cucumber ....... 77 

To the Rev. John Newton. April 23, 1781. Solution of the Enigma 78 
To tlie Uev. John Newton. May 28, 1781. On the Heat. On disem- 
bodied Spirits 80 

To the Uev. John Newton. July 7, 1781. His last Visit to Olney. La- 
dy Austen's first Visit. Correction in Progress of Error. Intended 

Portrait of Cowper 81 

To the Uev. John Newton. July 22, 1781. Progress of the Poem of 

Conversation ......84 

To Mrs. Newton. Aug. 1781. Changes of Fashion - - - - 85 
To the liev. John Newton. Aug. 16. 1781. Conversion of the Green- 
house into a Summer Parlour 87 

To the Uev. John Newton. Aug. 21, 1781. State of Mind. Lady Aus- 
ten's intended Settlement at Olney. Lines on Cocoa-nuts and Fish 90 
To the Uev. John Newton. Aug. 25, 1781. Poem of Uetirement. Mr. 

Johnson's Corrections --92 

To the Uev. John Newton. Sept. 9, 1781. Censure of Occiduus 94 

To Mrs. Nowton. Sept. 16, 1781. Lines on a Rarrel of Oysters - 96 

To the Rev. John Newton. Sept. 18, 1781. Dr. Johnson's Criticisms 
OM Watts and Blackmore. Smoking ...... 97 

To the Uev. William Unwin. Sept. 26, 1781. Thoughts on the Sea. 

Character of Lady Austen 100 

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Oct 3, 1781. Directing Sale of Chambers 101 

To tiie Uev. John Newton. Oct. 4, 1781. Religious Poetry - - 102 

To the Uev. John Newton. Oct. 14, 1781. Disputes between the Rev. 

Mr. Scott and the Rev. Mr. R. 104 

To the Rev. John Newton. Oct. 22, 1781. Proposed Preface to Cow- 
per's Poems 106 

To the Rev. John Newton. Nov. 7, 1781. Anecdote of Mr. Bull 108 
To the Rev. William Unwin. Nov. 24, 1781. Apparition of Paul White- 
head, Esq. 110 

To Joscpli Hill, Esq. Nov. 26, 1781. In answer to his account of his 

Landhuly and her Cottage - - - 112 

To the Rev. John Newton. Nov. 27, 1781. Unfavourable prospect of 

the American War - - - - 114 

To the Rev. John Newton. Same date. With lines on "Mary and John" 115 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. Dec. 2, 1781. Sale of Chambers - - -117 
Vo the Rev, John Newton. Dec. 4, 1781. With Lines to Sir Joshua 
Reynolds, on the American War - - 118 



CONTENTS. >ix 

Pag.' 

f o the Rev. John Newton, Dec. 17, 1781. Poem of Heroism ; Nine- 
veh and IJritain -.. 121 

To the Hev. William Unwin. No date. On Providence - - - 124 
To the Rev. John Newton. Shortest day, 1781. With Lines on the 

Flatting- Ml 11 - - - _ • • - - 125 

To the Rev. John Newton. Last day of 1781. The American Contest 127 
To the Rev. John Newton. Jan. 13, 1782. The same subject - - 128 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. Jan. 31, 1782. Political Reflections - - 130 

To Joseph Hill, Esq. March 14, 1782 With Copy of a Letter to Lord 

Thurlow .-..--.-.-- 132 

To the Rev. John Newton. March 14, 1782. Mr. B.'s Case compared 

with Cowper's .-..---.-- 133 
To the Rev.' William Bull. Jun- 22, 1782. Lines on Tobacco - - 134 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. September 6, 178J. Mr. Small's Visit - - 136 
To the Rev. Wiiliani Bull. x\'ov. 5, 1782. On his expected Visit - 137 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. Nov. 11, 1782. On Phmting - - - - 138 
To Josepii Hill, Esq. Nov. 1782. Correspondence with Mr. Small - 140 
To Mrs Newton. Nov. 23, 1782. Suffei-ings of the Poor at Olney. Re- 
ligious Reflections --.--...- 141 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. Dec. 7, 1782. His Situation contrasted with Cow- 
per's ----- 144 

To the Rev. John Newton. Jan. 26, 1783. The Treaty of Peace - 145 
To the Rev. William Unvvin. t'eb. 2, 1783. 'I'he same subject - 148 

To the Rev. John Newton. Feb. 8, 1783. The same subject - 149 

To Joseph Hdl, Esq. P'eb. 13, 1783. Cowper's Occupations - - 151 
To the Rev. John Newton. Feb. .4,1783. Treaty with the United States 152 
To the Rev. William Bull. March 7, 1783. With Epitaph on a Hare 134 
To the Rev. John Newton. March 7, 1783. Highlanders at Olney - 155 

To the Rev. John Newton, April 20, 1783. The writings of .His 

probable Conversion - - - - - - - - -157 

To the Rev. VV illi.im Unwin. May 12, 1783. The Knowledge of God a 

Treasure --. ---159 

To the Rev. William Bull. June 3, 1783. With Stanzas on Peace - 160 
To the liev. John Newton. Sept. 8, If 83. Cowper's Mental Sufferings 161 
To Joseph Hill, Esq. Oct. 20, 1783. Failure of the Caisse cVEscomptes 162 
To the Rev. John Newton. Oct. 22. 1783. Bacon's Monument of Lord 
Chathauj ----------- 162 

To the Rev. John Newton. Nov. 3, 1783. Fire at Olney described 164 
To the Rev. John Newton. Nov. 17, 1783. Ludicrous Account of the 

Punishment of a thief at Olney. Balloons 166 

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Nov. 21, 1783. On liis Opinion of Vovages and 

Travels " . - 169 

To the Rev. John Newton. Nov. 30, 1783. Probable Occupations of 
the Antediluvians --------- 170 

To the Rev. John Newton. Dec. 15, 1783. Speculations on the in- 
vention of Balloons -- -..-.- 173 
To the Rev. John Newton. Dec. 27, 1783. Ambition and Public 
Characters, (/hange of Ministers - - , - - - - 176 

To Mrs. Hill. Jan. 5, 1784. Requesting her to send him some Books 179 
To Joseph Hill. Esq. Jan. 8, 1784 On his Political Letters - 180 
To the Rev. John Newton. Jan. 13, 1784. Cowper's Religious De- 
spondency --. ISl 

To the Rev. William Bull, Feb. 22, 17H4. Unknown Benefactor to 

the Poor of Olney 183 

To the Rev. John Newton. March 19, 1784, Johnson's Lives of the 
Poets 184 



-r* CONTENrS 

I'o the Rev. VVilliaiii Unw in. March 21, 1784. The same subject - l85 

lo the Kev. Willium I'liwin. April 25, 178-4. With lines on a Maly- 
bull 188 

To the Itcv. John Newton. May 10, 1784. Conversion of Dr. John- 
son - . . - : - - 189 

I'o the Hev. John Newton. June 21, 1784. Commemoration of 
llandrl . . - - - 190 

lo tlic lUv. ^Villiam liiwin. July 3, 1784. Latin Grammars. Un- 
scasoiial)lc Cold .-......-- 192 

i'o the Ucv. Joiin Newton. July 19, 1784. Commemoration of Han- 
del : 194 

I'o tile Ucv. John Newton. Oct. 30, 1784. Knox's Kssavs - - 194 

i'o Joseph Hill, llsq. Dec. 4, 1784. Aerial Voyapes '- - - 195 

To the Hev. John Newton. Jan. 5, 1781. With Epitaph on Dr. John- 
son ..-.-......- 196 

I'o Joseph Hill, Esq, Jan, 22, 1785. Severe Frost. Political Specu- 
lations 198 

To the IJev. Johi\ Newton. Feb. 19, 1785. Ingenuity of Mr. Killing- 
worth, (.'ontrast. Misery of the Foor at Olney - - - - 199 

To Joseph Hill, F.s(|. Feb. 1'7, 1785. Inquiries respecting his Health 202 

I'o the Ke\. John Newton. March 19, 1785. History of u Card-table. 
Ailments. I'olition to I'arliainent .--..-- 203 

I'o the l{ev. John Newton. A|)riiy, 1785. Predicted E;irtlHiuake - 206 

To llie Kev. John Newton. April 'J2, 1785. Celebrity of .iohn Uilpin 208 

To llie Uev. John .Newton. M.iy 178'>. Death of Mr. Ashburner. Cow- 
per's Hopes of Hestoration. lied of Tulips 209 

To the Kev, John Newton, June 4, 1785. Mr. Greatheed's Preach- 
ing' ...... 213 

To the Hev. Jolm Newton, .lone 25, 1785. llelipous Reflections. 
Sall\ Johnson. Nathan. Hatl Season. Taxation of Luxuries - 214 

To tlu- Kev. John Newton. July y, 1785. Commemoration of Handel. 
Destruction of the Sjiinncy ........ 217 

To the Ue\. John Newton. Aujj. 6, 1785. Feelings of an Author on 
hisiirst iViblication. Cowper's sentiments on his own Works. John 
Gilpin 220 

i'o tile Kev. John Newton. Aug. 27, 1785. Dr. Johnson's Diary. Mr. 
Perr\'s Illness, und Admonitions - - 224 

To the Kev. John .Newton. Sept. ,'4, 1785. Marine Excursions. Mr. 
I'errv's Kecoverv. Heathenish Manners of the Poor of Olney - 227 

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Oct. 11, 1785. On his Published Epistle to Mr. 
Hill . - - 230 

To the Itev. John Newton. Oct. 16, 1715. Death of Miss Cunning- 
ham, i'roposed Kenioval of .Mr. Scott to the Lock, That Minis- 
ter burnt in Efiigy - ....... 231 

To the Uev. John Newton. Nov. 5, 1785. Mr. Newton's Authentic 
Narrative. Heron's Leiters on Literature. Stanzas. Hockey . 234 

To Joseph Hill, Estj. Nov. 7, 1785. Idle Acijuaintances . - 238 

lo liie Kev. Jolm Newton. Dec. 3, 1785. Translalion of Homer. 
Subscription ---..-.-... 239 

To the Kev. John Newton, Dee. 10, 1785. Inordinate Praises. Pope's 

Homer 242 

To the Kev. John Newton. Jan. 14, 1786. Subscription for the Trans- 
lation of ILiiner 244 

To the Kev. Joim Newton. Feb. 18, 1786. Homer. Proposed Mot- 
''^<s for Mr. Newton's Work on the Commemoration of Handel . 24^ 



CONTENTS. 



XXI 



Page 

To the Hev. John Newton. April 1, 1786. Expected Visits - - 248 

To the Kev. Jolin Newton. May 20, 1786. Mental SuflTerings. De- 
fence of Cowper'a Connexions 249 

To the Kev. .John Newton. July 1786. Arrival of Lady Hesketh, 
Cowper's Occupations --...-... 252 

To the Kev. John Newton, Aug-. 5, 1786 Intended Ketnoval to Wes- 
ton. Despondency 254 

To the Kev. Joiin Newton. Sept. 30, 1786. Cowper's Connexions de- 
fended 256 

'I'o the Kev. John Newton. Nov. 17, 1786. Removal to Weston - 259 

To the Kev. John Newton. Dec. 16, 1786. Death of Mr. Unwin - 261 

To the Kev. John Newton. Jan. 13, 1787. Inscription for Mr. Unwin's 
Tomb, 'translation of Homer ordained. Sally Perry's Case - 262 

To the Kev. John Newton. Oct. 2, 1787. Mental Improvement. Ex- 
pected arrival of Lady Hesketh 265 

To the Kev. John Newton. Oct. 20, 1787. On Cowper's Recovery. 
Petition on behalf of Mr. Postlethwaite ..... 267 

To the Kev. John Newton. Jan. 21, 1788. Mr. Bean. Account of Mrs. 
Uiuvin's dangerous accident --...... 269 

To Mrs. King. J-'eb. 12, 1788. On Cowper's Poems. Commencement 
of a Correspondence --.-..... 271 

To the Kev. John Newton. March 1, 1788. Returning Mr. Bean's 
Letter 273 

'i'o the Rev. John Newton. March 3, 1788. Arrival of Mr. Bean at 
Olney 274 

To Mrs. King. March 3, 1788. Sketch of Cowper's History - - 275 

To Mrs. Hill. March 17, 1788. Acknowledging a Present - - 27^ 

To the Kev. John Newton. March 17, 1788. With Verses written at 
his request 279 

I'o Mrs. King, .^pril 11, 1788. On his Melancholy. Impediments to 
their meeting. Th'-atiical representations 280 

To the Kev. John Newton. April 19, 1788. On the Slave-Trade - 281 

To the Kev. William Bull. .May 25, 1788. Translation from Madame 
Guyon 283 

To the Kev. John Newton. June 5, 1788. Declining to write a Poem 
on the Slave-Trade 284 

To Mrs. King. June 19, 1788. Physical Degeneracy of Man. Opinion 
of the Poet Thomson 286 

To the Rev. John Newton. June 24, 1788. Affray at Olney. The 
Slave-Trade 289 

To Joseph Hill, Ksq. July 6, 1788. On his. loirrney into Rutlandshire 291 

To Mr. King. August 28, 1788. Imaginary I'ortrait of .Mrs. King - 291 

To the Rev. John Newton. Sept. 2, 1788. Sufferings and Apprehen- 
sions. Mr, Bean's proceedings in his Parish 293 

To .Mrs. King. Sept. 2.5, 1788. Acknowledging Presents received from 
lier ; and with his Poems in return 295 

To Mrs. King. Oct. 11, 1788. On his former Amusements, Carpentry, 
Drawing, and (hardening 297 

To the Kev. John Newton. Nov. 29, 1788. Decline of Jenny Raban. 
Lady Hesketh's Cliaracter 300 

To Mrs. King. Dec. 6, 1788. Changes at Great Berkhampstead, the 
Birth-place of Cow per 301 

To the Kev. John Newton. Dec. 9, 1788. Returning a Latin Manu- 
script 303 

To Mrs. King. .Jan, 29, 1789. Mrs. Unwin's Fall. Distress of the Royal 
Family. Anecdote of Lord Thurlow - . . . . 305 



xxii CONTENTS. 

r»gr. 

To Mrs. Kintf. March 12, 1789. His Poem on the King's Recovery 306 
To Mrs. Kiiif^'. April 22, 1789. Twining's Aristotle - . - . 308 
To Mrs. Kinj;-. April .10, 17«9. I'ocnis hy Cowptr's Mrother - - 310 
To Mrs. Kiiifi;'. May 30, 1789. On liis S(;inz:»s present! il to the Queen 311 
To Mrs. Km);-. Aug. 1, 1789. Approiicliinjj Termination of tlie Trans- 
lation of llonior 312 

To Joseph Hill, Ksq. Aug. 13, 1789. Unfavourable Season. Hymn 

for Oliiey School ...-.-..-. 314 
To the Rev. John Newton. Avig. 16, 1789. Interruption of their Cor- 

resixHulence tlirough Cowper's Transluiions ..... 315 
To the Ilev. John Newton. Dec. 1, 1789. Renewal of correspondence. 

l*oi)ular heroes -•---..-.- 316 
To Mrs. King. Jan. 4, 1790. Renewing his suspended correspon- 
dence .-.-..-...-- 318 
To Mrs. King. Jan. 18, 1790. Residence at Weston. Criticisms on 

Homer --.-- 319 

To the Rev. John Newton, Feb. 5, 1790. Religious terrors and suf- 
ferings 321 

To Mrs. King. March 12, 1790. Picture of Cowper's mother . - 323 
To Jos. Mill, i:s(i. May 2, 1790. Translation of Homer . - - 324 
To .Mrs. King. June 14, 1790. Mr. Marlyn's illness - - . 325 

To Mrs. King. July 16, 1790. On her late visit to Weston - - 327 
To the Kcv. John Newton. Aug. 11, 1790. Illness of Mrs. Newton. 

Aiiinuil Magnetism .-.....-- 329 

To Joseph Hill, Ksq. Sept. 17, 1790. Subscription to the Translation 

of Homer 331 

To Mrs. King. Oct. 5, 1790. The same subject .... 33i 

To the Uev.'john Newton. Oct. 15, 1790. ik-ath of Mrs. Scott. Trans- 
lation of N'an Lier's Letters ....... 333 

To the Itev. John Nowton. Oct. 26, 1790. Preface to Cowper's poems. 

Autumn. Melancholy reflections -.-.-. 334. 

To Mrs. King. Nov. 29, 1790. Mr. Martyn's commendations - - 336 
To the Uev. John Newton. Dec. 5, 1790. Illness of Mrs. Newton - 337 
To Mrs. King. Dec. ol, 1790. Convalescence of Cowper. Present of 

a counterpane .- 338 

To the Kev. John Newton. Jan. 20, 1791. Death of Mrs. Newton - 339 
To Mrs. King. March 2, 1791. Subscrijition at Cambridge for the 

translation of Homer ...-.--.. 340 
To the Uev. John Newton. March 29, 1791. Recollections of former 

times. Occasional poems --...--. 342 
To the Hev. John Newton. June 'o4, 1791. Ktfects of time. Condo- 
lence on the loss of Mrs. Newton. Morality of Homer - - 344 
i"o the Rev. John Newton. July -2, 1791. Cowper's labours compar- 
ed with those of Mr. Newton, and other Ministers. Riots at llirming- 

ham -• 347 

To Mrs. King.- Aug. 4, 1791. Ill hcilth of Mr. and Mrs. King. State 

of mind .....-..--. 349 

To the Rev. Mr. King. Sept. 23, 1791. Acknowledging a Letter on 

Mrs. King's Illness ..-..-... 350 

To Mrs. King. Oct. 21, 1791. Congratulations on her Ilecovcry. Su- 
perior Kortiluilc of Women. New Kdilion of Milton - - . 351 
To the Rev. John Newton. Nov. 16, 1791. Misses Haimah and Martha 

More. Sunday Schools .--.-... 353 

To Mrs. King. J;oi.26. 1792, Dangerous nines'* of Mrs. I'nwin ■ vS^ 



CONTENTS. XXiii 

Page 

To the Uev. John Newton. Feb. 20, 1792. Lines for Miss Marllia 
Moore's Colli ction of Autoj^raphs. Cowper's edition of Milton - 356 

To the Uev. .Fohii Newton. March 4, 1792. Departure of Sir John 
and Lady Throckinorloii for London -.---, 358 

To Mrs. King March 8, 1792. Imprudence of going to Church too 
soon after a fit of Rheumatism 359 

To tlie Uev, John Newton. March 18, 1792. Cowper's Contentment. 
Character of W , a Servant 360 

To Joseph Hill, Esq. April 15, 1792. With Lines on an Error in one 
of his Poems --- - 362 

To the Rev. Willi.am Hull. July 25, 1792. On Cowper's sitting for his 
Portrait. Proposed Journey to Eurlham - . . . . 363 

To tlie Rev. John Newton. July 30, 1792. His late Visit to Weston. 
Hesitation respecting the Journey to Eartham .... 365 

To Mrs. Charlotte Smith. Sept. 1792. Her Poems. Sincerity of Hay- 
ley 367 

To Mrs. Courtenay. Sept. 10, 1792. The French Revolution - - 368 

To Mrs. King. Oct. 14, 1792. Account of his Visit to Eartham - 370 

To the Rev, John Newton. Oct. 18, 1792. The same sul)jcct - - 371 

To John Johnson, Esq. Nov. 5, 1792. On a Critique on the Transla- 
tion of Homer 373 

To the Rev. John Newton. Nov. 11, 1792. Impediments to his Cor- 
respondence. Mental Sufferings 374 

To the Rev. John Newton. Dec. 9, 1792. Progress of the Milton. 
Despondency -....-...- 375 

To John Johnson, Esq. Jan. 31, 1793. Lines on a Present from Mr. 
Copeman 377 

To Joseph Hill, Esq. March 29, 1793. Pecuniary circumstances. 
Translation of Homer .------.. 378 

To the Rev. John Newton. April 25, 1793. Correspondence with Dr. 
Cogshall of New York. English Epitaph on Mr. Unwin - - 379 

To the Rev. John Newton. June 12, 1793, Infirmity of Mrs. Unwin. 
Cowper's Melancholy 381 

To the Rev. John Johnson. Aug. 2, 1793. On his Preaching. Self- 
abasement 382 

To the Rev. John Newton. Oct. 22, 1793. On a late Excursion. Mr. 
Newton's " Letters to a Wife during three voyages to Africa" - 384 

To Joseph Hill, Esq. Dec. 10, 1793. Alarming Sprain. Second edi- 
tion of Homer . . . 385 



PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE 



OF 



WimM-Mi (O'^WIME^ mi 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

DEAR JOE, Huntingdon, July 3, 1765. 

Whatever you may think of the matter, it is no such 
easy thing to keep house for two people. A man cannot al- 
ways live like the lions in the Tower; and a joint of meat, in 
so small a family, is an endless incumbrance. In short, I never 
knew how to pity poor housekeepers before ; but now I cease 
to wonder at that politic cast which their occupation usually 
gives to their countenance, for it is really a matter full of per- 
plexity. 

I have received but one visit since here I came. I don't 
mean that I have refused any, but that only one has been offer- 
ed. This was from my woollen-draper; a very healthy, wealthy^ 
sensible, sponsible man, and extremely civil. He has a cold 
bath, and has promised me a key of it, which I shall probably 
make use of in the winter. He has undertaken, too, to get 
me the St. James's Chronicle three times a-week, and to shew 
me Hinchinbrook House, and to do every service for^e in his 
power ; so that I did not exceed the truth, you see, when I spoke 
of his civility. Here is a card-assembly, and a dancing-assem- 

1) 



36 COURESPONDENCE OF 

biy, and a horse-race, and a club, and a bowling-green, so that 
I am weir off, you perceive, in point of diversions; especially 
as I shall go to 'em, just as much as I should if I lived a thousand 
miles off. But no matter for that; the spectator at a play is 
more entertained than the actor ; and in real life it is much the 
same. You will say, perhaps, that if I never frequent these 
places, 1 shall not come within the descri|)tion of a spectator ; 
and you will say right. 1 have made a blunder, which shall be 
corrected in the next edition. 

You are old dog at a bad tenant ; witness my uncle's and 
your mother's geese and gridirons. There is something so ex- 
tremely impertinent in entering upon a man's premises, and 
using them without paying for 'em, that I could easily resent it 
if I would. But I rather choose to entertain myself with think- 
ing how 30U will scour the man about, and worry him to death, 
if once you begin with him. Poor toad! I leave him entirely 
to your mercy. 

My dear Joe, you desire me to write long letters — I have 
neither matter enough, nor perseverance enough for the pur- 
pose. However, if you can but contrive to be tired of read- 
ing as soon as I am tired of writing, we shall find that short 
ones answer just as well; and, in my opinion, this is a very 
practicable measure. 

]My friend Colman has had good fortune; I wish him better 
fortune still ; which is, that he may make a right use of it. The 
tragedies of Lloyd and Bensley are both very deep. If they 
are not of use to the surviving part of the society, it is their 
own fault. 

I was debtor to Bensley seven pounds, or nine, I forget 
which, li you can fnid out his l)rother, you will do me a great 
favour if you will pay him for me ; but tlo it at your leisure. 
Yours atid • tlieirs, 

W. C 



WILLIAM COWPEIl. 27 

^ The author is supposed to mean Mrs. Hill and her two 
daughters. The word theirs cannot so well rei'er to the last an- 
tecedent, the persons who stand in that relation with it being 
both dead at the tinnie he wrote, as is evident from the context. 

LIPSIUS. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

DEAR JOE, August 14, 1765. 

Both Lady Hesketh and my brother had apprised me of 
your intention to give me a call ; and herein I find they were 
both mistaken. But they both informed me, likewise, that you 
were already set out for Warwickshire; in consequence of which 
latter intelligence, I have lived in continual expectation of see- 
ing you, any time this fortnight. Now, how these two ingeni- 
ous personages (for such they are both) should mistake an expe- 
dition to French Flanders for a journey to Warwickshire, is 
more than I, with all my ingenuity, can imagine. I am glad, 
however, that I have still a chance of seeing you, and shall 
treasure it up amongst my agreeable expectations. In the mean 
time, you are welcome to the British shore, as the song has it, 
and I thank you for your epitome of your travels. You don't 
tell me how you escaped the vigilance of the custom-house offi- 
cers, though I dare sgiy you were knuckle-deep in contrabands, 
and had your boots stuffed with all and all manner of unlawful 
wares and merchandizes. 

You know, Joe, I am very deep in debt to my little physi- 
cian at St. Albans, and that the handsomest thing I can do will 
be to pa)' him le pluiot qu'il sera possible, (this is vile French, 
I believe, but you can, now, correct it.) My brother informs 
me that you have such a quantity of cash in your hands, on my 



2S CORRESPONDENCE OF 

account, that I may venture to send him forty pounds imme- 
diately. This, therefore, I shall be obliged if you will manage 
for me ; and when you receive the hundred pounds, which my 
brother likewise brags you are shortly to receive, 1 shall be 
glad if you will discharge the remainder of that debt, without 
waiting for any further advice from your humble servant. 

I am become a professed horseman, and do hereby assume 
to myself the style and title of the Knight of the Bloody Spur. 
It has cost me much to bring this point to bear; but I think I 
have at last accomplished it. 

My love to all your family. 
Yours ever, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

DEAR JOE, Nov. 5, 1765. 

I wrote to you about ten days ago, 

Solicltinfj a quick return of gold, 

To purchase certain horse that like mc well. 

Either my letter or your answ-er to it, I fear, has miscarried. 
The former, I hope; because a miscarriage of the latter might 
be attended with bad consequences. 

I find it impossible to proceed an}' fcnger in my present 
course, without danger of bankruptcy. I have therefore en- 
tered into an agreement with the Rev. Mr. Unwin, to lodge and 
board with him. The family arc the most agreeable in the 
world. They live in a special good house, and in a very gen- 
teel way. They arc all exactly what I would wish them to be, 
and T know I shall be as happy with them as I can be on this 
side of the sun. I did not dream of this matter till about five 



WILLIAM COWPEK. 29 

days ago : but rtow the whole is settled. I shall transfer myself 
thither as soon as I have satisfied all demands upon me here. 

Yours ever, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

DEAR SEPHUS, Nov. 8, 1765, 

Notwithstanding; it is so agreeable a thing to read Law 
Lectures to the Students of Lyons' Inn, especially to the reader 
himself, I must beg leave to waive it. Danby, Pickering must 
be the happy man ; and I heartily wish him joy of his deputy- 
ship. As to the treat, I think if it goes before the lecture, it 
will be apt to blunt the apprehension of the students; and if it 
comes after, it may erase from their memories impressions so 
newly made. I could wish, therefore, that for their benefit and 
behoof, this circumstance were omitted. But if it be abso- 
lutely necessary, I hope Mr. Salt, or whoever takes the con- 
duct of it, will see that it be managed with the frugality and 
temperance becoming so learned a body. I shall be obliged to 
you if you will present my respects to Mr. Treasurer Salt, and 
express my concern, at the same time, that he had the trouble 
of sending me two letters upon this occasion. The first of them 
never came to hand. 

I think the Welshman must morris ; — what think you ? If 
he withdraws to his native mountains we shall never catch him : 
so the best way is to let him run in debt no longer. 

As to E — , if he will listen to any thing, it must be to a re- 
monstrance from you. A letter has no more effect upon him, 
than a messenger sent up to a paper kite ; and he will make me 
pay the postage of all my epistles into the bargain. 



.A) COUllESPONDENCK OF 

I shall be obliged to you if you will tell me whether my 
exchequer is full or empty, and whether the revenue of last 
year is yet come in, that 1 may proportion my payments to the 
exigencies of my afl'airs. 

My dear Sephus, give my love to your family, and believe 
me much obliged to you for your invitation. At present 1 am 
in such an unsettled condition, that I can think of nothing but 
laying the foundation of my future abode at Unwin's. My 
being admitted there, is the effect of the great good-nature and 
friendly turn of that family, who, I have great reason to be- 
lieve, are as desirous to do me service as they could be after a 
much longer acquaintance. Let your next, if it comes a week 
hence, be directed to me there. 

The greatest part of the law books are those which Lord 
Cowper gave me. Those, and the very few 1 bought myself, 
are all at the Major's service. 

Stroke puss's back the wrong way and it will put her in 
mind of her master. 

Yours ever, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

DEAR SEPHUS, Dec. 3, 1765. 

That I may return as particular an answer to your letter 
as possible, I will take it ileni by Hem. 

First, then, 1 rejoice with you in the victory you have ob- 
tained over the Welshman's pocket. The reluctance with which 
he pays and promises to pay, gives me hut little concern, fur- 
ther than as it seems to threaten vou with the trouble of manv 



WILLIAM COWPElt. 31 

fruitless applications hereafter, in the receipt of rny lordship's 
rents. 

Secondly, I am glad that you have received some money on 
my account ; and am still more pleased that you have so much 
in bank, after the remittances already made. But that which 
increases my joy to the highest pitch of possible augmentation, 
is, that you expect to receive more shortly. 

Thirdly, I should be quite in raptures with the fair promises 
of Mr. E — , if I believed he was in earnest. But the propensity 
of that gentleman to indulge himself in a jocular humour upon 
these serious occasions, though it is very entertaining, is not 
quite so good a joke as the performance of those promises 
would be. But men of wit are apt to be a little whimsical. 

Fourthly, I do recollect that I myself am a little guilty of 
what I blame so much in Mr, E — : in the last letter I wrote 
you, having returned you so facetious an answer to your seri- 
ous enquiry concerning the entertainment to be given, or not 
to be given, to the gentlemen of New Inn, that you must needs 
liave been at a loss to collect from it my real intentions. My 
sincere desire, however, in this respect is, that they may fast ; 
and being supported in this resolution, not only by an assur- 
ance that I can, and therefore ought to make a better use of my 
money, but also by the examples of my predecessors in the 
same business, Mr. Barrington and Mr. Schutz, I have no lon- 
ger any doubt concerning the propriety of condemning them to 
abstinence upon this occasion ; and cannot but wish that point 
may be carried, if it can be done without engaging you in the 
trouble of any disagreeable haggling, and higgling, and twist- 
ing, and wriggling, to save my money. 

Lastly, if I am not mistaken, I owe Thurlow five guineas. 
Be so kind as to pay him when he happens to fall in your way- 

Yours, my dear Joe, 

W. C. 



33 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

The fire of the general election begins to smoke here al- 
ready. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

DEAR SEPHUS, Oct. 27, 1766. 

If every dealer and chapman was connected with cre- 
ditors like you, the poor commissioners of bankrupts would be 
ruined. I can only wonder at you, considering my knack at 
running in debt, and my slender ability to pay. After all, I 
am afraid that tlie poor stock must sufl'er. * * * * * * 
****** My finances will never be able to satisfy 
these craving necessities, without leaving my debt to you en- 
tirely unsatisfied. And though I know you are sincere in what 
you say, and as willing to wait for your money as heart can 
wish, yet qusere, whether the next half year, which will bring 
its expenses with it, will be more propitious to you than the 
])resent ? The succeeding half years may bear a close resem- 
blance to their insolvent predecessors «;ontinually ; and unless 
we break bank some time or other, your proposal of payment 
may be always what it is at present. What matters it, there- 
fore, to reprieve the stock, .which must come to execution at 
last. 

I am heartily glad my uncle^ has recovered his spirits ; and 
desire you will remember me to all your associates at Taplow. 
1 sympathise with you upon the fugitive nature of the longest 
vacation, and wish, for your sake, that the chancellor would 
pack up his great seal, and hold his court in your neighbour- 
hood. 

Yours evei', 

W. C. 

• Ashley Cowper. Esq. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 33 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 



DEAR JOE, May 14, 1767. 

I only know that I was once the happy owner of a red- 
leather trunk, and that my hrother, when I first saw him at 
Cambridge, upon my enquiring after my papers, &c., told me 
that in a red-leather trunk they were all safely deposited. The 
whole contents of it are little worth, and if I never see them 
more, I shall be but very moderately afflicted by the loss, 
tliough I fancy the trunk upon the road will prove to be the 
very trunk in question. 

Together with your letter came a bill from my quondam 
hosier, in Fleet-street, Mr. Reynolds, for the sum of two 
pounds ten shillings, desiring present payment, cash being 
scarce. I sent him an order for the money by this day's post. 
My future expenses in the hosiery way will be small, for Mrs. 
Unwin knits all my stockings, and would knit my hats too, if 
that were possible. 

I imagine my brother will be in town about midsummer, 
when he will be able to confer with you upon the subject of 

the inexorable Mr. E , more to the purpose than I can by 

letter. 

Having commenced gardener, I study the arts of pruning, 
sowing, and planting ; and enterprise every thing in that way, 
from melons down to cabbages. I have a large garden to dis- 
play my abilities in, and, were we twenty miles nearer Lon- 
don, I might turn higgler, and serve your honour with cauli- 
flowers, and brocoli, at the best hand. I shall possibly now 
and then desire you to call at the seed-shop, in your way to 
Westminster, though sparingly. Should I do it often, you 



34 CORRESPONDENCE OP 

would begin to think you hail a molher-in-law at Berkhamp- 
Btead.* 

Yours, dear Joe, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

DEAR JOE, .liine 16, 1767. 

This part of the world is not productive of much news, 
unless the coldness of the weather be so, which is excessive 
for the season. VVc expect, or rather experience a warm con- 
test between the candidates for the county : the preliminary 
movements of bribery, threatening, and drunkenness, being 
already taken. The Sandwich interest seems to shake, though 
both parties are very sanguine. Lord Carysfort is supposed to 
be in great jeopardy, though as yet, I imagine, a clear judg- 
ment cannot be formed ; for a man may have all the noise on 
his side, and yet lose his election. You know me to be an 
uninterested person, and I am sure I am a very ignorant one 
in things of this kind. I only wish it was ov^', for it occasions 
the most detestable scene of profligacy and riot that can bo 
imagined. 

Yours ever, 

W. C. 

• The writer's father having been rector of Berkliampstead, this proba- 
bly alludes to tlie numerous commissions which his friend would recollect 
he had to execute, when resident in tlie Temple, for his surviving part- 
ner. 



William cowper. 35 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 



Dear joe, Olney, Oct. 10, 1767. 

One more law question ; and I believe the last, — A man 
holds lands in the right of his wife, the rents payable half- 
yearly, viz. at Lady-day, and Michaelmas ; dies in July. Are 
not the rising rents the property of the widow ? I mean, the 
rent of the whole last half year. You are a better counsellor 
than I was, but I think you have much such a client in me, as 
I had in Dick Harcourt. Much good may do you with me ! 

I have no map to consult, at present, but by what remem- 
brance I have of the situation of this place in the last I saw, it 
lies at the northernmost point of the county. We are just five 
miles beyond Newport Pagnell. I am willing to suspect that 
you make this enquiry with a view to an interview, when time 
shall serve. We may possibly be settled in our own house in 
about a month, where so good a friend of mine will be ex- 
tremely welcome to Mrs. Unwin. We shall have a bed, and 
a warm fire-side, at your service, if you can come before next 
summer; and if not, a parlour that looks the north wind full 
in the face, where you may be as cool as in the groves of Va 
lombrosa. 

Yours, my dear Sephus, 

affectionately ever, 

W.C. 



;{(j CORRESPONDENCE OF 



TO JOSEPIE HILL, ESQ. 



DEAR JOE, Oct. 20, 1768. 

By this time, I pret;unic, you are returnecl to the pre- 
cincts of the law. The latter end of October, I know, «i;ene- 
rally puts an end to your relaxations ; such as readinj:; upon 
sunshiny banks, and contemplating- the clouds, as you lie upon 
your back. 

Permit it to be one of tiie aliena negotia centum, which 
are now bee;innin2; to buzz in your ears, to send me a twenty 
pound note by the first opportunity. I beg my aflectionate 
respects to my friends in Cook's-court, and am, dear Sephus. 

Yours sincerely, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

DEAR JOE, Jan. 21, 1769. 

I rejoice with you in your recovery, and that you have 
escaped from the hands of one from whose hands you will not 
always escape. Deatli is either the most formidable, or the 
most comfortable thine;, we have in prospect, on this side of 
eternity. To be brought near to him, and to discern neither 
of these features in his face, would ars^ue a degree of insensibi- 
lity, of vvhidi I will not suspect my friend, whom I know to 
be a thinking man. Vou have been brought down to the sides 
of the grave, and you have been raised again by Him who has 
the keys of the invisible world ; who opens and none can shut, 
who shuts, and none can open. I do not forget to return thanks 
to him on your behalf, and to pray that your life, which He 



WILLIAM COWPER. 37 

has spared, inay be devoted to "his service. " Behold ! I stand 
at the door and knock," is the word of Him, on whom both 
our mortal and immortal life depend, and blessed be his name; 
it is the word of one who wounds only that He may heal, and 
who waits to be pjracious. The language of every such dispen- 
sation is, " Prepare to meet; thy God." It speaks with the 
voice of mercy and ji;oodness, for without such notices, what- 
ever preparation we might make for other events, we should 
make none for this. My dear friend, I desire and pray, that 
when this last enemy shall come to execute an unlimited com- 
mission upon us, we may be found ready, being established and 
rooted in a well-grounded faith in His name, who conquered 
and triumphed over him upon his Cross. 

"V ours ever, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAR JOE, Jan. 29, 1769. 

I have a moment to spare, to tell you that your letter is 
just come to hand, and to thank you for it. I do assure you, 
the gentleness and candour of your manner engages my affec- 
tion to you very much. You answer with mildness to an ad- 
monition, which would have provoked many to anger. I have 
not time to add more, except just to hint, that if I am ever 
enabled to look forward to Death with comfort, which, I thank 
God, is sometimes the case with me, I do not take my view of 
it from the top of my own works and dcservings, though God 
is witness that the labour of my life is to keep a conscience 
void of offence towards Him. He is always formidable to me, 



38 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

but when I sec him disarmed of his sting, by having sheathed 
it in the body ot" Christ Jesns. 

Yours, my dear friend, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

DEAR JOE, August 27, 1771. 

I take a friend's share in all your concerns, so far as 
they come to my knowledge, and consequently did not receive 
the news of your marriage with indifference. I wish you and 
your bride all the happiness that belongs to the state ; and the 
still greater felicity of that state which marriage is only a type 
of. All tbose connexions shall be dissolved ; but there is an 
indissoluble bond between Christ and his church, the subject of 
derision to an unthinking world, but the glory and happiness of 
all his people. 

I join with your mother and sisters in their joy upon the 
present occasion, and beg my affectionate respects to them, and 
to Mrs. Hill unknown. 

Yours ever, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, June 27, 1772. 

I only write to return you thanks for your kind otfer — 
Agnosco veteris vestigia Jlammyp. But I will endeavour to go 
on without troubling you. Excuse an expression that disho- 
nours your friendship ; 1 should rather say, it would be a trou- 



WILLIAM COWPER. 39 

ble to myself, and I know you will be generous enough to give 
me credit ;or the assertion. 1 had rather want many things, 
any thing, indeed, that this world could aflford me, than abuse 
the ati'ection of a friend. I suppose you are sometimes trou- 
bled upon my account. But you need not. I have no doubt it 
will be seen, when my days are closed, that I served a Master 
who would not suffer me to want any thing that was good for 
me. He said to Jacob, I will surely do thee good ; and this 
he said, not for his sake only, but for ours also, if we trust in 
Him. This thought relieves me from the greatest part of the 
distress I should else suffer in my present circumstances, and 
enables me to sit down peacefully upon the wreck of my for- 
tune. 

Yours ever, my dear friend, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, July 2, 1772. 

My obligations to you sit easy upon me, because I am 
sure you confer them in the spirit of a friend. 'Tis pleasant to 
some minds to confer obligations, and it is not unpleasant to 
others to be properly sensible of them. I hope I have this 
pleasure — and can with a true sense of your kindness subscribe 
myself, 

Yours, 

W. C. 



40 CORRESPONDENCE OF 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

Nov. 5, 1772. 
Believe me, my dear friend, truly sensible of your in- 
vitation, though I do not accept it. My peace of mind is of 
so delicate a constitution, that the air of London will not aspree 
with it. You have my prayers, the only return I can make 
you, for your many acts of still-continued friendship. 

If you should smile, or even lauj^h at my conclusion, and I 
were near enough to see it, I should not be angry, though I 
should be grieved. It is not long since I should have laughed 
at such a recompense myself. But glory be lo the name of 
.Tesws, those days are past, and, I trust, never to return! 
I am yours, and Mrs. Hill's, 
with much sincerity, 

w. c. 



TO JOSEPFI HILL, ESQ. 

DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 12, 1776. 

One to whom fish is so welcome as it is to me, can have 
no great occasion to distinguish the sorts. In general, there- 
fore, whatever fish are likely to think a jaunt into the country 
agreeable, will be sure to find me ready to receive them ; butts, 
plaice, flounder, or any other. 

Having suflered so much by nervous fevers myself, I know 
how to congratulate Ashley upon his recovery. Other distem- 
pers only batter the walls ; but thty creep silently into the cita- 
del, and put the garrison to the swortl. 

You perceive I have not made a squeamish use of your 



WILLIAM COWPER. 41 

obliging offer. The remembrance of past years, and of the 
sentiments formerly exchanged in our evening walks, convinces 
me still that an unreserved acceptance of what is graciously 
offered, is the handsomest way of dealing with one of your 
character. 

Believe me yours, 

W. C. 
As to the frequency, which you leave to my choice, too, 
you have no need to exceed the number of your former re- 
mittances. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, April— I fancy the 20th, 1777. 

Thanks for a turbot, a lobster, and Captain Brydone ; a 
gentleman, who relates his travels so agreeably, that he de- 
serves always to travel with an agreeable companion. I have 
been reading Gray's Works, and think him the only poet since 
Shakspeare entitled to the character of sublime. Perhaps you 
will remember that I once had a different opinion of him. I 
was prejudiced. He did not belong to our Thursday society, 
and was an Eton man, which lowered him prodigiously in our 
esteem. I once thought Swift's Letters the best that could be 
written ; but I like Gray's better. His humour, or his wit, or 
whatever it is to be called, is never ill-natured or offensive, and 
yet, I think, equally poignant with the Dean's. 
I am yours affectionately', 

W. C 



COKUPiSI'ONUENCE Of 



TO JOSRIMI nil, I., KSQ. 



MV DEAU VRIKM), May 25, 1777. 

\Vc (lirtur iu)t iniioli in our opinion of Mr. Gray. Wheu 
I wrote last, I was in the middle of the book. His later 
Pipistles, I think, are worth little, ussuc/i, hut tnij:;ht be turn- 
ed to excellent account by a youna; student of taste and judg- 
ment. As to Mr. Wastes Letters, I think I could easily bring 
your opinion of them to square with mine. They are elegant 
and sensible, but have nolhina; in them that is characteristic, or 
that discriminates them from the letters of any other young 
man of taste and learning;. As to the book yon mention, I am 
in dind>t whether to road it or not. I should like the philoso- 
phical part of it, but (he j)olitica!, which, I sup|)ose, is a de- 
tail of intrigues carried on by the Company aral their servants, 
a history ol rising and falling nabobs, I should have no appe- 
tite to at all. I will not, therefore, give you the trouble of 
sending it at present. 

\ ours ailcctionately, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAR FlUENl), July 13, 1777. 

Yon need not give yourself any further trouble to pro- 
cure me the South Sea Voyag-es. Lord Dartmouth, who was 
here about a month since, and was so kind as to pay me two 
visits, has furnished me with both Cook's and Forster's *Tis 
well fur the poor naii\cs of those distant countries that our na- 
tional expenses cannot be supplied by cargoes of yams and ba- 



WILLIAM COWPEK. 43 

lianas. Curiosiiy, therefore, beiiif^ once satisfied, they may pos- 
6il)Iy be permitted for the future to enjoy their riciies of that 
kind in peace. 

If, whim you are most at leisure, you can find out Baker 
upon the Microsopc, or Vincent Bourne's Latin Poems, the last 
edition, and send them, 1 siiall be obliged to you. Either, or 
both, if they can be easily found. 

I am yours alfectionately, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DRAR FlUEND, Jim. 1, 1778. 

Your last packet was douhly welcome, and Mrs. Hill's 
kindness gives me peculiar pleasure, not as coming from a 
stranger to me, for 1 do not account her so, though I never saw 
her. but as coming from one so nearly connected with yourself. 
I shall take care to acknowledge the receipt of her obliging let- 
ter, when I return the books. Assure yourself, in the mean 
time, that I read as if the librarian was at my elbow, continu- 
all}' jogging it, and growling out, Make haste. But as I read 
aloud, I shall not have finished before the end of the week, and 
will return them by the diligence next Monday. 

I shall be glad if you will let me know whether I am to under- 
stand by the sorrow you express, that any part of my former 
supplies is actually cut off, or whether they are only more tardy 
in coming in, than usual. It is useful even to the rich, to know, 
as nearly as may be, the exact amount of their income ; but 
how much more so to a man of my small dimensions. If the 
former should be the case, 1 shall have less reason to be sur|)ris- 
ed, than I have to wonder at the continuance of them so long. 



44 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

Favours are favours indeed, when laid out upon so barren a soil, 
where the expense of sowinp; is never accompanied by the small- 
est hope of return. What pain tlicre is in 2;ratitude, I have often 
felt ; but the pleasure of requiting an obligation, has always been 
out of my reach. 

Affectionately yours, 

W. C 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, April 11, 1778. 

Poor Sir Thomas !* I knew that I had a place in his 
affections, and from his own information, many years ago, a 
plaCe in his will ; but little thought that after the lapse of so 
many years I should still retain it. His remembrance of 
me, after so long a season of separation, has done me much 
honour, and leaves me the more reason to regret his decease. 

I am reading the Abbe with great satisfaction, and think him 
the most intelligent writer upon so extensive a subject I ever 
met with ; in every respect superior to the Abbe in Scotland. 

Yours affectionately, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, May, 7, 1778. 

I have been in continual fear lest every post should 
bring a summons for the Abbe Raynal ; and am glad that 1 have 
finished him before my fears were realized. I have kept him 

* Sir Thom.is Hcsketh, Baronet, of Ruffbrd Hall, in Lancashire. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 45 

long, but not throu2;h neglect or idleness. I read the five vo- 
lumes to Mrs. Unwin ; and my voice will seldom serve me with 
more than an hour's reading at a time. I am indebted to him 
for much information upon subjects, which, however interesting, 
are so remote from those with which country folks in general 
are conversant, that had not his works reached me at Olney, I 
should have been for ever ignorant of them. 

I admire him as a philosopher, as a writer, as a man of ex- 
traordinary intelligence, and no less extraordinary abilities to 
digest it. He is a true patriot. But then the world is his 
country. The frauds and tricks of the cabinet, and the counter, 
seem to be equally objects of his aversion. And if he had not 
found that religion too had undergone a mixture of artifice, in 
its tnrn, perhaps he would have been a Christian. 

Yours affectionately, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, June 18, 1778. 

I truly rejoice that the chancellor has made you such a 
present, that he has given such an additional lustre to it by his 
manner of conferring it, and that all this happened before you 
went to Wargrave, because it made your retirement there the 
more agreeable. This is just according to the character of the 
man. He will give grudgingly, in answer to solicitation, but 
delights in surprising those he esteems, with his bounty. May 
you live to receive still further proofs that 1 am not mistaken in 
my opinion of him. 

Yours affectionately, 

W. C. 



46 CORRESPONDENCE OF 



TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, July — 79. 

When 1 was at Maijjate, it was an excursion of pleasure 
to go to sec Ramsgate. The pier, I retneinber, was accounted 
a most excellent |)iece of stone-work, and such I found it. By 
this tinne, I suppose, it is finished, and surely it is to no small 
advantage, that you have an opportunity of observing; iiow 
nicel}' those great stones are put together, as olten as you please, 
without either trouble or expense. *»*****« 

There was not, at that time, much to be seen in the Isle of 
Thanet, besides the beauty of the country, and the fine pros- 
pects of the sea, which are no where surpassed except in the 
Isle of Wight, or upon some parts of the coast of Hampshire. 
One sight, however, I rememlier, engaged my curiosity, and I 
went to see it. A tine jiieoe of ruins, built by the late Lord 
Ildlland, at a great expense, which, the day after 1 saw it, 
tumbled down for nothing. Perhaps, therefore, it is still a ruin; 
and if it is, I advise you by all means to visit it, as it must have 
been much improved by this fortimate incident. It is hardly 
possible to piU stones together with that air of wild ami mag- 
nificent disorder which they are sure to acquire by falling of 
their own accord. 

I remember (the last thing I mean lo remember upon this 
occasion) that Sam Cox, the counsel, walking- by the sea-side, 
as if absorbed in deej) contemplation, was questioned about 
what he was musing on. He replied, •' I was wondering that 
such an almost infinite and unwieldy element should produce a 

sprat.'' l)ur love attends your whole party. 

Yours affectionately, 

w. r. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 47 



TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, July 17, 1779. 

We envy your sea-breezes. In the garden we feel no- 
thing but the reflection of the heat from the walls; and in the 
parlour, from the opposite houses. I fancy Virgil was so situat- 
ed, when he wrote those two beautiful lines: 

oil qiiis me gelklis in vallibus Hacmi 

Sistat, et ingenti ramoruni protegat umbri! 

The worst of it is, that though the sun-beams strike as forcibly 

upon my harp-strings as they did upon his, they elicit no such 

sounds, but rather produce such groans as they are said to have 

drawn from those of the statue of Memmon. 

As you have ventured to make the experiment, your own 

experience will be your best guide in. the article of bathing. 

An inference will hardly follow, though one should pull at it 

with all one's might, from Smollett's case to yours. He was 

corpulent, muscular, and strong ; whereas, if you were either 

stolen or strayed, such a description of you in an advertisement 

would hardly direct an enquirer with sufficient accuracy and 

exactness. But if bathing does not make your head ache, or 

prevent your sleeping at night, I should imagine it could not 

hurt you. 

Yours affectionately, 

W. C. 



4S COURESFONDENCE OF 



rO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 



MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 2, 1779. 

You begin (o count the rennaining days of the vacation, 
not with impatience, but through unwillingness to see the end 
of it. For the mind of man, at least of most men, is equally 
busy in anticipating the evil and the good. That word antici- 
pation puts me in remembrance of the pamphlet of that name, 
which, if you purchased, I should be glad to borrow. I have 
seen only an extract from it in the Review, which made me 
laugh heartily, and wish to peruse the whole. 

The newspaper informs me of the arrival of the Jamaica fleet. 
I hope it imports some pine-apple plants for me. I have a 
good frame and a good bed prepared to receive them. I send 
you annexed a fable, in which the pine-apple makes a figure, 
and shall be glad if you like the taste of it. Two pair of soles, 
with shrimps, which arrived last night, demand my acknow- 
ledgments. You have heard that when Arion performed upon 
the harp, the fish followed him. I really have no design to fid- 
dle you out of more fish, but if you should esteem my verses 
worthy of such a price, though I shall never be so renowned as 
he was, I shall think myself equally indebted to the muse that 
helps me. 

The Pitie */9pple and the Bee. 

" The Pine-apples," &c.* 

My affectionate respects attend Mrs. Hill. She has put Mr. 
Wright to the expense of building a new hot-house : the plants 

• vide Cowper's Poems. 



WILLIAM COWPfiR. 49 

produced by the seeds she gave me, having grown so large as to 
require an apartment by themselves. 

Yours, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 14, 1779. 

Your approbation of my last Heliconian present encou- 
rages me to send you another. I wrote it, indeqfl, on purpose 
for you ; for my subjects are not always such as I could hope 
would prove agreeable to you. My mind has always a melan- 
choly cast, and is like some pools I have seen, which, though 
filled with a black .and putrid water, will nevertheless, in a 
bright day, reflect the sun-beams from their surface. 

On the Promotion of Edward Thurlow, <§'c.* 



Yours affectionately, 



W. C 



TO MRS. NEWTON. 

DEAR MADAM, March 4, 1780. 

To communicate surprise is almost, perhaps quitCj as 
agreeable as to receive it. This is my present motive for writ- 
ing to you rather than to Mr. Newton. He would be pleased 
with hearing from me, but he would not be surprised at it ; you 
see, therefore, I am selfish upon the present occasion, and prin- 
cipally consult my own gratification. Indeed, if I consulted 

* Cowper's Poerrts, 
C 



,'30 (;OI{UESI'ONl)KNCE OJ 

yours, 1 should be silent, for 1 have no such budget as the Mi- 
nisters, furnished ;ind stufll'd with ways and means for every 
enuMj^ency, and shall lind it dillicult, perhaps, to raise supplies 
even for a short ej)islle. 

^'ou have observed in common conversatimi, that the man 
who couiilis the oftencst, (I mean if he has not a cold) docs it 
because he has nolhing to say. Even so it is in letlcr-wriling : 
a long preface, such as mine, is an ugly symptom, and always 
foreboiles great sterility in the following pages. 

T]ie vicarage-house became a melancholy object, as soon as 
Mr. Newton had left it; when you left it, it became more me- 
lancholy : now it is actually occupied by another family, even I 
cannot look at it without being shocked. As 1 walked in the 
garden this evening, I saw the smoke issue from the study 
chinniey, anil said to myself, That used to be a sign that Mr. 
Newton was there ; but it is so no longer. The walls of the 
house know nothing of the change that has taken place; the 
bolt of the chamber-door sounds just as it used to do ; and when 

Mr. P goes up stairs, for aught I know, or ever shall know, 

the fall of his foot couKI hardly, perhaps, be distinguished from 
that of INIr. Newton. But Mr. Newton's foot will never he, 
heard upon that staircase again. These reflections, and such as 
these, occurred to me upon the occasion ;*****#. If 
1 were in a condition to leave Olney too, I certainl}' would not 
stay in it. It is no attachment to the place that binds me here, 
hut an unfitness for every other. 1 lived in it once, hut now I 
am buried in it, and have no business with, the world on the 
outside of my sepulchre ; my ap|)earance would startle them, 
and theirs would be shocking to me. 

Such ai-e my thoughts about the matter. Others are more 
deeply ail'ccted, and by more weighty considerations, having 



WILLIAM COWPER. 5I 

been many years the objects of a ministry which they had rea- 
son to account themselves happy in the possession of. * * 

We vvere concerned at your account of Robert, and have lit- 
tle doubt but he will shuffle himself out of his place. Where 
he will find another, is a question not to be resolved by those 
who recommended him to this. I wrote him a long; letter, a 
day or two after the receipt of yours, but I am afraid it was 
only clapping a blister upon the crown of a wig-block. 

My respects attend Mr. Newton and yourself, accompanied 
with much affection for you both. 

Yours, dear Madam, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, March 16, 1780. 

If I had had the horns of a snail, I should have drawn 
them in the moment I saw the reason of your epistolary bre- 
vity, because I felt it too. May your seven reams be multi- 
plied into fourteen, till your letters become truly Lacedaemo- 
nian, and are reduced to a single syllable. Though I shall be 
a sufl'erer by the effect, I shall rejoice in the cause. You are 
naturally formed for business, and such a head as yours can 
never have too much of it. Tiiough my predictions have been 
fulfilled in two instances, I do not plume myself much upon my 
sagacity ; because it required but little to foresee that Thurlow 
would be Chancellor, and that you would have a crowded office. 
As to the rest of my connexions, tlv re, too, I luve given proof 
of equal foresight, with not a jot more reason for vanity. * * 



52 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

To use the phrase of all who ever wrote upon the state of 
Europe, the political horizon is dark indeed. The cloud has 
been thickening;, and the thunder advancing many years. The 
storm now seems to be vertical, and threatens to burst upon the 
land, as if, with the next clap, it would shake all to pieces. — 
As for me, I am no Quaker, except where military matters are 
in question, and there I am much of the same mind with an 
honest man, who, when he was forced into the service, declai-- 
ed he would not fight, and gave this reason — because he saw 
nothing worth fighting for. You will say, perhaps, Is not Li- 
berty worth a struggle? True: but will success insure it to 
me ? Might I not, like the Americans, emancipate myself from 
one master, only to serve a score, and, with laurels upon my 
brow, sigh for my former chains again ? 

Many thanks for your kind invitation. Ditto to Mrs. Hill, 
for tlie seeds — unexpected, and therefore the more welcome. 

You gave me great pleasure, by what you say of my uncle.* 
His motto shall bo 

Hie ver perpetuura atque alienis tnensibus xstas. 

1 remember the time when I have been kept waking, by the 
fear that he would die before me; but now, I think, I shall 
grow old first. 

Yours, my dear friend, affectionately, 

W. C. 

* Ashley Cowp^r, Esq. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 53 



TO MRS. NEWTON. 



DEAR MADAM, June, 1780. 

When I write to Mr. Newton, he answers me by let- 
ter; when I write to you, you answer me in fish. I return 
you many thanks for the mackerel and lobster. They assured 
me in terms as intelligible as pen and ink could have spoken, 
that you still remember Orchard-side ; and though they never 
spoke in their lives, and it was still less to be expected from 
them that they should speak, being dead, they gave us an as- 
surance of your afi'ection that corresponds exactly with that 
which Mr. Newton expresses towards us in all his letters. — - 
For my own part, I never in my life began a letter more at a 
venture than the present. It is possible that I may finish it, 
but perhaps more than probable that I shall not. 1 have had 
several indifferent nights, and the wind is easterly ; two cir- 
cumstances so unfavourable to me in all my occupations, but 
especially that of writing, that it was with the greatest difficulty 
I could even bring myself to attempt it. 

You have never yet perhaps been made acquainted with the 
unfortunate Tom F — 's misadventure. He and his wife return- 
ing from Hanslope fair, were coming down Weston-lane ; to 
wit, themselves, their horse, and their great wooden panniers, 
at ten o'clock at night The horse having a lively imagination, 
and very weak nervee, fancied he either saw or heard some- 
thing, but has never been able to say what. A sudden fright 
will impart activity, and a momentary vigour, even to lameness 
itself. Accordingly, he started, and sprang from the middle of 
the road to the side of it, with such surprising alacrity, that he 
dismounted the gingerbread baker, and his gingerbread wife, 
in a moment. Not contented with this effort, nor thinking 



54 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

himself yet out of danger, ho proceeded as fast as he could to a 
full gallop, rushed against the gate at the bottom of the lane, 
and opened it for himself, without perceiving that there was 
any gate there. Still he galloped, and with a velocity and mo- 
mentum continually increasing, till he arrived in Olney. I had 
been in bed about ten minutes, when I heard the most uncom- 
mon and unaccountable noise that can be imagined. It was, in 
fact, occasioned by the clattering of tin pattypans and a Dutch- 
oven against the sides of the panniers. Much gingerbread was 
picked up in the street, and Mr. Lucy's windows were broken 
all to pieces. Had this been all, it would have been a comedy, 
but we learned the next morning, that the poor woman's col- 
lar-bone was broken, and she has hardly been able to resume 
her occupation since. 

What is added on the other side, if I could have persuaded 
myself to write sooner, would have reached you sooner; 'tis 
about ten days old. *** *»** **« «* 
The Doves* 

The male Dove was smoking a pipe, and the female Dove 

was sewing, while she delivered herself as above. This little 

circumstance may lead you perhaps to guess what pair I had in 

my eye. 

Yours, dear Madam, 

W. C 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MON AMI, July 8, 1780. 

By this time, I suppose, you have ventured to take 
your fingers out of your ears, being delivered from the deafen- 

* Vide Cowper's Poems, vol. i. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 55 

uig shouts of the most zealous mob that ever strained their 
lun^s in the cause of religion. I congratulate you upon a gen- 
tle relapse into the customary sounds of a great city, which, 
though we rustics abhor them, as noisy and dissonant, are a 
musical and sweet murmur, compared with what you have 
lately heard. The tinkling of a kennel may be distinguished 
now, where the roaring of a cascade would have been sunk 
and lost. I never suspected, till the newspapers informed me 
of it, a few days since, that the barbarous uproar had reached 
Great Queen Street. 1 hope Mrs. Hill was in the country, and 
shall rejoice to hear that, as I am sure you did not take up the 
protestant cudgels upon this hair- brained occasion, so you have 
not been pulled in pieces as a papist. 

w. c. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, July 12, 1780. 

Such nights as I frequently spend, are but a miserable 
prelude to the succeeding day, and indispose me above all 
things to the business of writing. Yet with a pen in my hand, 
if I am able to write at all, I find myself gradually relieved; 
and as I am glad of any employment that may serve to engage 
my attention, so especially I am pleased with an opportunity of 
conversing with you, though it be but upon paper. This occu- 
pation above all others assists me in that self-deception to which 
I am indebted for all the little comfort I enjoy; things seem to 
be as they were, and I almost forget that they never can be so 
again. 

We are both obliged to you for a sight of Mr. 's letter. 

The friendly and obliging manner of it will much enhance the 



SB IMUtllESPONDKNCE Ol 

difficulty of ansu-erini; it. I think I can sec plainly that though 
he does not hopr for your applause, he would gladly e^c•apc 
your censuio. lie sct>ms to approach you smoothly anil sotily, 
and to take you jjeiitly by the hand, as if he bespoke your 
lenity, ami entreated you at least to spare him. You have 
sueh skill in the managjcment of your pen, that I doubt not 
you will be able to send him a balmy reproof that shall give 
him no reason to complain of a broken heail. — How delusive 
is the wildest sj)ecuIation when pursued with eagerness, and 
nourished with such arguments as the perverteil ingenuity of 
such a mind as his can easily furnish! — Judgment falls asleep 
upon the bench, while Imagination, like a smug, jx'rt counsel- 
lor, stands chattering at the bar, and with a deal of fine-spun, 
enchanting sophistry, carries all before him. 

If I hud sti'ength of miiul, 1 have not strength of body for 
the task which, you say, some would impose upon me. 1 can- 
not bear much thinking. The meshes of that fuie network, 
the brain, are composed of such mere spinners' threads in me, 
that when a long thought finds its way into them, it buzzes, and 
twangs, and bustles about at such a rate as seems to threaten 
the whole contexture. — iNo — 1 must needs ivlVr it again to 
you. 

IMv enigma will jtrobably fuid yvui out, and you will find 
out my enigma at some future time. 1 am not in a humour to 
transcribe it now. Indeed 1 wonder that a sportive thought 
should ever knock at the door of my intellects, and still moi*e 
that it should gain admittance. It is as if harlequin should in- 
trude himself into the gloomy chaml)er where a corpse is depo- 
sited in state. His antic gesticulations would be unseasonable 
at any rate, but more especially so if they shouKI distort the 
features of the mournful attendants into laui:;hter. But the 
mind long wearied with the sameness of a dull, dreary piw»- 



WILLIAM COWPEU. r^T 

pect, will gladly (ix its eyes on any thins; that may make a little 
variety in its contemplations, thoiij;-h it were but a kitten playing 
with her tail. 

You would helieve, though 1 diii not say it at the vud of 
every letter, that we reniember you and JVlrs. JNewlon with tlie 
same alFection as ever; but 1 vvoulil not therefore excuse myself 
from writing what it gives you pleasure to ixixd. I have often 
wished indeed, when writing to an ordinary correspondent, lor 
the revival of the Roman custoni — saiulis at top, and lutlc at 
bottom. But as the French have taught all Europe to enter a 
room and to leave it with a most ceremonious bow, so they 
have taught us to begin and conclude our letters in thr saiiic 
mannei-. However I can say to you, 
Sails ceremonief 

Adieu, man ami I 

w. r 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAR SIR, Aug-. 10, IZHQ. 

I greet you at your castle of Buen Retire, and vvisli you 
could enjoy the unmixt pleasures of the country there. ]iut it 
seems you are obliged to dash the cup w ilh a |)ortion of those 
bitters you are always swallowing in town. Well — you are ho- 
nourably and usefully employed, and ten times more beneficially 
to society, than if you were pipii»g to a tew sheep under a 
spreading beech, or listening to a tinkling rill. Besides, by 
the etVect of long custom and habitual practice, you are not 
only enal)led to endure your occupation, but even lind it agree- 
able. 1 remember the time when it would not have suited you 
so well, to have devoted so large a part of your vacation to th** 

H 



5S CORRRSPONDENCE OF 

objects ot your profession; ami yon, I dare say, have not for- 
got what a seasonable relaxation yon found, when, lying at full 
stretch upon the ruins of an old wall, by the sea-side, you 
amused yourself with Tasso's Jerusalem, and the Pastor Fido. 
I recollect that wc both pitied Mr. De Grey, when we called at 
his cottage at Taplow, and found, not the master indeed, but 
his desk, with his white-leaved folio upon it, which bespoke 
him as much a man of business in his retirement as in West- 
minster Hall. But by these steps he ascended the Bench. Now 
he may read what he pleases, and lidc where he will, if the 
gout will give him leave. And you who have no gout, and pro- 
bably never will, when your hour of dismission comes, will, 
for that reason, if for no other, be a happier man than he. 
I am, my dear friend, 

Afl'ectionately yours, 

W. C. 

P. S. INIr. has not thought proper to favour me with hi? 

book, and having no interest in the subject, I have not thouglit 
proper to purchase it. Indeed I have no curiosity to read what 
I am sure must be erroneous before I read it. Truth is worth 
every- thing that can be given for it ; but a mere display of in- 
genuity, calculated only to mislead, is worth nothing. 



TO .lOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MV DEAR VKIENI), Dec. 10, 1780. 

I am Sony that the bookseller shuffles ofl' the trouble of 
package upon any body that belongs to you. I think I could 
cast him upon this point, in an action upon the case, grounded 
upon the terms of his own undertaking. He engages to serve 
country customei's. Ergo, as it would be unreasonable to ex- 



Wri.UAM COWPER. /•,<> 

pect tliat when a country gentleman wants a book, he should 
order his chaise, and hid the man drive to Kxetcr Change ; and 
as it is not probable that the book would laid the way to him, 
of itself, though it were the wisest that ever was written, 1 
should suppose the law would compel him. For I recollect it 
is a maxim of good authority in the courts, that there is no 
right without a remedy. And if another, or third person, 
should not be suflered to interpose between my right and the 
remedy the law gives mo, whore the right is invaded, much 
less, I apprehend, shall the man himself, who of his own mcro 
motion gives me that right, bo suflbrod to do it. 

I never made so long an argument upon a law case before. 
I ask your pardon for doing it now. You have but little need 
•f such entertainment. 

Vours affectionately, 

W. C. 



TO THE UEV. JOHN NEWTON. 

Dec. 21, 1780. 
I thank you for your anecdote of Judge Carpenter. If 
it really happened, it is one of the best stories I ever heard ; 
and if not, it has at least the merit of being hcntrovato. Wc 
both very sincerely laughed at it, and think the whole Livery 
of London must have done the same ; though I have known 
some persons whose faces, as if they had been cast in a mould, 
could never be provoked to the least alteration of a single fea- 
ture ; so that you might as well relate a good story to a barber's 
block. 

Noil ccjuidem invideo, miror magis. 

Your sentiments with respect to me arc exactly Mrs. Unwin's. 



60 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

She, like you, is perfectly sure of my deliverance, and often 
tells mc so. I make but one answer, and sometimes none at 
all. That answer gives her no pleasure, and would give you 
as little ; therefore at this time I suppress it. It is better on 
every acoount that they who interest themselves so deepl}' in 
that event, should believe the certainty of it, than that they 
should not. It is a comfort to them, at least, if it is none to me ; 
and as I could not, if I would, so neither would I, if I could, 
deprive them of it. 

I annex a long thought in verse for your perusal. It was 
produced about last midsummer, but I never could prevail with 
myself, till now, to transcribe it.* You have bestowed some 
commendations on a certain poem now in the press, and they, 
I suppose, have at least animated me to the task. If human na- 
ture may be compared to a piece of tapestry, (and why not ?) 
then human nature, as it subsists in me, though it is sadly faded 
on the right side, retains all its colour on the wrong. I arn 
pleased with commendation, and though not passionately desi- 
rous of indiscriminate praise, or what is generally called popu- 
larity, yet when a judicious friend claps me on the back, I own 
I find it an encouragement. At this season of the year, and in 
this gloomy uncomfortable climate, it is no easy matter for the 
owner of a mind like mine, to divert it from sad subjects, and 
fix it upon such as may administer to its amusement. Poetry, 
above all things, is useful to me in this respect. While I am 
held in pursuit of pretty images, or a pretty way of expressing 
them, I forget every thing that is irksome, arid, like a boy that 
plays truant, determine to avail myself of the present opportu- 
nity to be amused, and to put by the disagreeable recollection 
that I must, after all, go home and be whipt again. 

• The verses alluded to, appear to have been separated from the 
letter. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 61 

It will not be long, perhaps, before you will receive a poem 
called the Progress of Error. That will be succeeded by an- 
other, in due time, called Truth. Don't be alarmed. I ride 
Pegasus with a curb. He will never run away with me again. 
I have even convinced Mrs. Unwin that I can manage him, 
and make him stop when I please. 

Yours, 

W. C 



TO THE UEV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR SIR, Jan. 21, 1781. 

I am glad that the Progress of Error did not Err in its 
Progress, as I feared it had ; and that it has reached you safe ; 
and still more pleased that it has met with your approbation ; 
for if it had not, I should have wished it had miscarried, and 
have been sorry that the bearer's memory had served him so 
well upon the occasion. I knew him to be that sort of genius, 
which, being much busied in making excursions of the imagi- 
nary kind, is not always present to its own immediate concerns, 
much less to those of others; and having reposed the truth in 
him, began to regret that I had done so, when it was too late. 
But I did it to save a frank, and as the affair has turned out. 
that end was very well answered. This is committed to the 
hands of a less volatile person, and therefore more to be de- 
pended on. 

As to the poem called Truth, which is already longer than 
its elder brother, and is yet to be lengthened by the addition of 
perhaps twenty lines, perhaps more ; I shrink from the thought 
of transcribing it at present. But as there is no need to be in 
any hurry about it, I hope that in some rainy season, which the 
next month will probably bring with it, when perhaps I may 



62 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

be glad of employment, the undertaking will appear less for- 
midable. 

You need not withhold from us any intelligence relating to 
yourselves, upon an apprehension that Mr. R has been be- 
forehand with you upon those subjects, for we could get nothing 
out of him. I have known such travellers, in my time, and 
jNlrs, Newton is no stranger to one of them, who keep all their 
observations and discoveries to themselves ; till they are ex- 
torted from them by mere dint of examination, and cross-exa- 
mination. He told us indeed, that some invisible agent sup- 
plied )ou every Sunday with a, coach, which we were pleased 
with hearing ; and this, I think, was the sum total of his in- 
formation. 

We are much concerned for Mr. Barham's loss ; but it is 
well for that gentleman, that those amiable features in his cha- 
racter, which most incline one to sympathise with him, are the 
very graces and virtues that will strengthen him to bear it with 
equanimity and patience. People that have neither his light 
nor experience, will wonder that a disaster which would per- 
haps have broken their hearts, is not heavy enough to make 
any abatement in the cheerfulness of his. 

Your books came yesterday. I shall not repeat to you what 
I said to Mrs. Unwin, after having read two or three of the 
letters. I admire the preface, in which you have given an air 
of novelty to a worn-out topic, and have actually engaged the 
favour of tlie reader by saying those things in a delicate and 
uncommon way, which in general are disgusting. 

I suppose you know that Mr. Scott will be in town on Tues- 
day. He is likely to take possession of the Vicarage at last, 
with the best grace possible ; at least, if he and Mr. Browne 
can agree upon the terms. 

Yours, my dear friend, 

vv. c. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 63 



TO THE KEV. WILLIAM UNWIN. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 6, 178L 

Much good may your humanity do you, as it does so 
much good to others. You can no where find objects more en- 
tilled to your pity, than where your pity seeks them. A man 
whose vices and irregularities have brought his liberty and life 
into danger, will always be viewed with an eye of compassion 
by those who understand what human nature is made of. And 
while we acknowledge the severity of the law to be founded 
upon principles of necessity and justice, and are glad that there is 
such a barrier provided for the peace of society, if we consider 
that the difference between ourselves and the culprit is not of 
our own making, we shall be, as you are, tenderly affected with 
the view of his misery, and not the less so because he has 
brought it upon himself. I look upon the worst man in 

Chelmsford gaol with a more favourable eye than upon , 

who claims a servant's wages from one who never was his 
master. 

I give you joy of your own hair. No doubt you are a con- 
siderable gainer in your appearance by being disperiwigged. 
The best wig is that which most resembles the natural hair ; 
why then should he that has hair enough of his own, have re- 
course to imitation ? I have little doubt, but that if an arm, or 
a leg, could have been taken off with as little pain as attends 
the amputation of a curl, or a lock of hair, the natural limb 
would have been thought less becoming, or less convenient, by 
some men, than a wooden one, and been disposed of accord- 
ingly. 

Yours ever, 

W. C 



ri4 CORRESPONDENCE 01 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 



MV DEAH FRIEND, Eeb. 16, I7til 

It is possible that Mrs. Hill may not be herself a sul- 
fcrer by the late terrible catastrophe in the Islands ; but I should 
suppose, by her correspondence with those parts, she may be 
connected with some that are. In either case, I condole with 
her; for it is reasonable to imagine that since the first tour that 
Columbus made into the Western world, it never before expe- 
rienced such a convulsion ; perhaps never since the foundation 
of the globe. You say the state grows old, and discovers many 
symptoms of decline. A writer, possessed of a genius for hypo- 
thesis, like that of Burnet, might construct a plausible argu- 
ment to prove that the world itself is in a state of superannua- 
tion, if there be such a word. If not, there must be such a one 
as superannuity. When that just equilibrium that has hitherto 
supported all things, seems to fail, when the elements burst the 
chain that has bound them, the wind sweeping away the works 
of man, and man himself together with his works, and the ocean 
seeming to overleap the command, " Hitherto shalt thou come, 
and no further, and here shall thy proud waves be stayed,'* 
these irregular and prodigious vagaries seem to bespeak a de- 
cay, and forebode, perhaps, not a very distant dissolution. 
This thought has so run away with my attention, that I have 
left myself no room for the little politics that have only Great 
Britain for their object. Who knows but that while a thousand, 
and ten thousand tongues are employed in adjusting the scale of 
our national concerns, in complaining of new taxes, and funds 
loaded with a debt of accumulating millions, the consummation of 
all thinate may discharge it in a moment, and the scene of all this 
hustle disappear, as if it had never been ? Charles Fox would say. 



WILLIAM COWPEIl. (i/, 

perhaps, he thought it very unlikely. I question if he couM 
prove even that. I am sine, however, lie could not prove it 
to be impossible. 

Yours, 

W. C 



TO THK UKV. JOHN NEWTON. 

>fY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 18, 1781. 

I send you Tahh-Talk. It is a medley of many things, 
some that may be useful, and some that, for aught I know, may 
be very diverting. I am merry that I may decoy people into 
my company, and grave that they may be the better for it. 
Now and then I put on the garb of a philosopher, and take the 
opportunity that disguise procures me, to drop a word in favour 
of religion. In short, there is some froth, and here and there 
a bit of sweet-meat, which .seems to entitle it justly to the name 
of a certain dish the ladies call a trifle. I did not choose to be 
more facetious, lest I should consult the taste of my readers at 
the expense of my own approbation ; nor more serious than I 
have been, lest I should forfeit theirs. A poet in my circum- 
stances has a difficult part to act: One minute obliged to bridle 
his humour, if he has any, and the next, to clap a spur to the 
sides of it : Now ready to weep from a sense of the importance 
of his subject, and on a sudden constrained to laugh, lest his 
gravity should be mistaken for dulness. If this be not violent 
exercise for the mind, I know not what is, and if any man 
doubt it, let him try. Whether ail this management and con- 
trivance be necessary, I do not know, but am inclined to sus- 
pect that if my Muse was to go forth clad in Quaker colour, 
without one bit of ribband to enliven her appearance, she might 

I 



66 COKRESPONDKNCE OF 

walk from one enti of London to the other, as little noticed as 
if she were one of the sisterhood indeed. 

As to the word you mention, I a little suspected that you 
would ohject to it. ********** * 
# * * * I am no friend to the use of words taken from 
what an uncle of mine called the diabolical dictionary, but it 
happens sometimes that a coarse expression is almost neces- 
sary to do justice to the indignation excited by an abominable 
subject. I am obliged to you, however, for your opinion, and 
though poetry is apt to betray one into a warmth that one is 
not sensible of in writing piose, shall always desire to be set* 
down by it. 

Mr. Scott told Mr. Wilson yesterday or the day before, that 

he had again asked Mr. R whether or not he intended to 

continue his speaking, and that Mr. R would give him no 

determinate answer. This 1 had from Mr, Wilson himself. It 
will be well if that business ends peaceably. Nothing could be 
more tenderly cogent than your letter to his colleague, and he, 
for aught I know, may be properly influenced by it ; but it 
seems plain that either the before-mentioned had not seen it, or 
that if he had, he had not felt it. — Geary Ball has lost his wife. 
She was buried on Thursday, having left her friends a comfort- 
able hope of her welfare. 

You had been married thirty-one years last Monday. When 
you married, I was eighteen years of age, and had just left 
Westminster school. At that time, I valued a man according 
to his proficiency and taste in classical literature, and had the 
meanest opinion of all other accomplishments unaccompanied 
by that. I lived to see the vanity of what I had made my pride, 
and ill a few years found that there were other attainments 
which would carry a man more handsomely through life, than 
a mere knowledge of what Homer and Virgil had left behind 



WILLIAM COWPER. 67 

them. In measure as my attachment to these s;entry wore off, 
I found a more welcome reception among those whose acquaint- 
ance it was more my interest to cultivate. But all this time 
was spent in painting a piece of wood, that had no life in it. 
At last I hegan to think indeed ; I found myself in possession 
of many baubles, but not one grain of solidity in all my trea- 
sures. Then I learned the truth, and then 1 lost it; and there 
ends my history. I would no more than you wish to live such 
a life over again, but for one reason. He that is carried to ex- 
ecution, though through the roughest road, when he arrives at 
the destined spot, would be glad, notwithstanding the many 
jolts he met with, to repeat his jpurney. 

Yours, my dear Sir, with our joint love, 

W. C. 



TO MRS. HILL. 

DEAR MADAM, Feb. 19, 1781. 

When a man, especially a man that lives altogether in 
the country, undertakes to write to a lady he never saw, he is 
the awkwardest creature in the world. He begins his letter 
under the same sensations he would have, if he was to accost 
her in person, only with this difference, — that he may take as 
much time as he pleases, for consideration, and need not write 
a single word that he has not well weighed and pondered be- 
forehand, much less a sentence that he does not think superemi- 
nently clever. In every other respect, whether he be engaged 
in an interview or in a letter, his behaviour is, for the most part, 
equally constrained and unnatural. He resolves, as they say, 
to set the best leg foremost, which often proves to be what Hu- 
dibras calls — 



GS CORUESl'ONDENCIi Ol 



-IS'ot that of lujiic, 



But mucli its better tl»' wooden one. 

His cxtraoi-dinary eflTort only serves, as in tlio case ol" that hero,i 
to throw him on the other side of his horse ; and he owes liis 
want of success, if not lo absolute stupidity, \o his most earnest 
endeavour to secure it. 

Now I do assure you, Madam, that all these sprij^htly ellusion-s 
of mine stand entirely clear of the charge of premeditation, and 
that I never entered upon a business of this kind with more 
simplicity in my life. I determined, before 1 began, to lay 
aside all attempts of the kind I have just mentioned ; and be- 
ing perfectly free from the fetters that self-conceit, commonly 
called bashfulness, fastens upon the mind, am, as you see, sur- 
prisingly brilliant. 

INly principal design is to thank you in the plainest terms, 
which always afford the best proof of a man's sincerity, for 
your obliging present. The seeds will make a figure hereafter 
in the stove of a much greater man than myself, who am a lit- 
tle man, with no stove at all. Some of them, however, I shall 
raise for my own amusement, and keep them, as long as they 
can be kept, in a bark heat, which I give them all the year ; 
and in exchange for those I part with, I shall receive such ex- 
otics as are not too delicate for a green-house. 

I will not omit to tell you, what, no doubt, you have heard 
already, though, perhaps, you have never made the experiment, 
that leaves gathered at the fall are found to hold their heat much 
longer than bark, and are preferable in every respect. Next 
year, I intend to use them myself. I mention it, because Mr. 
Hill told me, some time since, that he was building a stove, in 
which, I suppose, they will succeed much better than in a frame. 

I beg to thank you again, Madam, for the very fine salmon 



WILLIAM COWPER. 69 

you was so kind as to favour me with, which has all the sweet- 
ness of a Hertfordshire trout, and resembles it so much in fla- 
vour, that, blindfold, I should not have known the difference. 
I beg, Madam, you will accept all these thanks, and believe 
them as sincere as they really are. Mr. Hill knows me well 
enough to be able to vouch for me, that I am not over-much 
addicted to compliments and fine speeches; nor do I mean 
either the one or the other, when T assure you that I am, dear Ma- 
dam, not merely for his sake, but your own, 
Your most obedient 

and affectionate servant, 

w. r. 



TO THE REV. .JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 25, 1781. 

He that tells a long story should take care that it be not 
made a long story by his manner of telling it. His expression 
should be natural, and his method clear ; the incidents should 
be interrupted by very few reflections, and parentheses should be 
entirely discarded. I do not know that poor Mr. Teedon guides 
himself in the affair of story -telling by any one of these rules, or 
by any rule indeed that I ever heard of. He has just left us, after 
a long visit, the greatest part of which he spent in the narration 
of a certain detail of facts that might have been compressed into 
a much smaller compass, and my attention to which has weaned 
and worn out all my spirits. You know how scrupulously nice 
he is in the choice of his expression ; an exactness that soon 
becomes very inconvenient both to speaker and hearer, where 
there is not a great variety to choose out of. But Saturday even- 
ing is come, the time I generally devote to my correspondence 



70 CORRESPONDKNCE Ol 

with you ; and Mrs. Unwin will not allow mc to let it pasS 
vvitho'it writing, though, having done it herself, hoth she and 
you might well spare me upon the present occasion. 

I hove not yet read your extract from Mr. Scott's letter to 

Mr, R , though I have had an opportunity to do it. I 

thought it might be better to wait a little, in hope that there 
might be no need to do it at all. If hereafter it should be ne- 
cessary to inform him of Mr. Scott's feelings and sentiments 
upon the subject, I will readily perform the office, and accom- 
pany the performance of it with such advice of my own, and 
such reasons, as may happen to occur. In the mean time, I 
am a little apprehensive that opposition may provoke opposi- 
tion in return, and set a sharper edge upon inclination, already 
sufficiently whetted to the business. 

We are not the proper persons to give counsel or direction to 
Mr. Scott; our acquaintance with him is of too short a stand- 
ing to warrant us in the use of such a liberty. But it is our 
joint opinion that he will not find himself easily and comfort- 
ably settled at Olney while he retains the curacy at Weston. 
The people of that parish are rather inclined to grumble ; and, 
as we are informed, express some dissatisfaction on finding that 
they are to have but single service on the Sabbath ; and the 
people here are not well pleased, though they will have the 
same number of ordinances as before, that they are not to have 
them at the same tim.e. Some, perhaps, may find the altera- 
tion a real inconvenience; and others, who may not find it so, 
will be glad of an occasion to pretend one. His resignation of 
Weston would at once annihilate all these complaints, and 
would, besides, place the Sunday evening service and the 
whole management of it entirely in his own hands, which, as 
it would prevent the possibility of any bickering on the ac- 
count of supernumerary speakers, we should think were a most 



WILLIAM COVVPKU. 71 

desirable object. We are well aware that the vicinity of 
Weston to Ra'nstone is Mr. Scott's reason for still continuing; to 
hold the former ; but whether, when weighed in the balance 
against the mischiefs he may incur by doing it, it will be found 
a sufficient one, may be a niatier deserving consideration. It 
can be no very difficult thing for his former people to reach 
him at Olney, though one mile will be added to their journey. 
If they really prefer him to their new minister, we think such 
a difficulty as that may be easily surmounted. Whether Mr. 
Scott's circumstances will affiard the sacrifice, we do not know ; 
but Mrs. Unwin thinks, and, if you ask me my opinion, I 
think so too, that if there be no other objection to the measure, 
he would do well to commit himself to Providence for a sup- 
ply. Mr. Browne's age, and the probability, nearly related, 
I suppose, to a certainty, that Mr. Scott will succeed him in 
the living, seems, of itself, to reduce that difficulty almost to 
nothing. My paper is so intolerably bad, as you may per- 
ceive by the running of the ink, that it has quite worn out my 
patience. 

Notwithstanding my purpose to shake hands with the Muse, 
and take my leave of her for the present, we have already had 
a tete-a-tete^ since I sent you the last production. I am as 
much, or rather more pleased with my new plan, than with 
any of the foregoing. 1 mean to give a short summary of the 
Jewish story, the miraculous interpositions in behalf of that 
people, their great privileges, their abuse of them, and their 
consequent destruction ; and then, by way of compaiison, such 
another display of the favours vouchsafed to this country, the 
similar ingratitude with which they have requited them, and 
the punishment they have therefore reason to expect, unless re- 
formation interpose to prevent it. Expostulation is its pre- 
sent title ; but I have not yet found in the writing it, that faci- 



72 COURESPONDENCK OF 

lity aiul readiness without which I shall despair to finish it well,' 
or indeed to finish it at all. 

Iklicve mc, my dear Sir, with love to Mrs. N. 
Your ever afTectionate, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, March 5, 1781. 

Since writing has hecome one of my principal amuse- 
ments, and I have already produced so many verses on sub- 
jects that entitle them to a hope that they may possibly be use- 
ful, I should be sorry to suppress them entirely, or to publish 
them to no purpose, for want of that cheap ino;redient, the 
name of the Aiithor. If my name therefore will serve them in 
any degree, as a passport into the public notice, they are wel- 
come to it; and Mr. Johnson will, if he pleases, announce me 
to the world by the style and title of 

WiLLiAjNi CowPER, Esq. 
Of the Inner Temple. 

If you are of my mind, I think Tab/e Talk will be the best 
to begin with, as the subjects of it are perhaps more popular; 
and one would wish, at first setting out, to catch Ihe public by 
the ear, and hold them by it as fast as possible, that they may 
be willing to hear one, on a second and a third occasion. 

The passage you object to I inserted merely by way of catch, 
and thiidv. that it is not unlikely to answer the purpose. My 
design was to say as many serious things as I could, and yet to 
be as lively as was compatible with such a j)urpose. Do not 
imagine that I mean to stickle lor it as a pretty creature of my 



WILLIAM COWPEU. 73 

own that I am loth to part with — but I am apprehensive that 
without the sprightliness of that passage to introduce it, the 
following paragraph would not show to advantage. — If the world 
had been filled with men like yourself, I should never have 
written it; but thinking myself in a measure obliged to tickle, 
if I meant to please, I therefore affected a jocularity I did not 
feel. — As to the rest, wherever there is war, there is misery 
and outrage ; notwithstanding which it is not only lawful to 
wish, but even a duty to pray for the success of one's country. 
And as to the neutralities, I really think the Russian virago an 
impertinent puss for meddling with us, and engaging half a 
score kittens of her acquaintance to scratch the poor old lion, 
who, if he has been insolent in his day, has probably acted no 
otherwise than they themselves would have acted in his cir- 
cumstances, and with his power to embolden them. 

I am glad that the myrtles reached you safe, but am per- 
suaded from past experience that no management will keep them 
long alive in London, especially in the city. Our own English 
Trots, the natives of the country, are for the most part too deli- 
cate to thrive there, much more the nice Italian. To give them, 
however, the best chance they can have, the lady must keep 
them \vell watered, giving them a moderate quantity in sum- 
mer time every other day, and in winter about twice a week ; 
not spring-water, for that would kill them. At Michaelmas, as 
much of the mould as can be taken out without disturbing the 
roots must be evacuated, and its place supplied with fresh, the 
lighter the better. And once in two years the plants must be 
drawn out of their pots with the entire ball of earth about them, 
and the matted roots pared off with a sharp knife, when they 
must be planted again with an addition of rich light earth as be- 
fore. Thus dealt with, they will grow luxuriantly in a green- 
house, where they can have plenty of sweet air, which is abso- 

K 



74 COUttESPO^JDE^'CE OF 

lutely necessary to their health. I used to purchase tlieni at 
Covcnl-garclen ahiiosl every year, when I Hved in the Temple ; 
hut even in that airy situation they were sure to lose their leaf 
in winter, and seldom recovered it again in spring. 1 wish them 
a better fate at Hoxton. 

Olney has seen this day what it never saw before, and what 
will serve it to talk of, 1 suppose, for years to come. At eleven 
o'clock this morning, a party of soldiers entered the town, 
driving before them another party, who, after obstinately de- 
fending the bridge for some time, were obliged to quit it, and 
run. They ran in very good order, frequently faced about and 
fired, but were at last obliged to surrender prisoners of war. 
There has been much drumming and shouting, much scamper- 
ing about in the dirt, but not an inch of lace made in the town, 
at least at the Silver End of it. 

It is our joint request that you will not again leave us un- 
written to for a fortnight. We are so like yourselves in this 
particular, that we cannot help ascribing so long a silence to the 
worst cause. The longer your letters the better, but a short one 
is better than none. 

Mrs. Unwin is pretty well, and adds the greetings of her love 
to mine. 

Yours, my dear friend, 

W. C. 



TO THE KEV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FIUEND, March 18, 1781. 

A slight disorder in my eye may possibly prevent my writ- 
ing you a long letter, and would perhaps have prevented my 



WILLIAM COWPER. 75 

writing at all, if I had not known that you account a fortnight's 
silence a week too long. 

I am sorry that I gave you the trouble to write twice upon so 
trivial a subject as the passage in question. I did not understand 
by your first objections to it, that you thought it so exception- 
able as you do ; but being better informed, I immediately re- 
solved to expunge it, and subjoin a few lines which you will 
oblige me by substituting in its place. I am not very fond of 
weaving a political thread into any of my pieces, and that for 
two reasons : first, because I do not think myself qualified, in 
point of intelligence, to form a decided opinion on any such to- 
pics ; and secondly, because I think them, though perhaps, as 
popular as any, the most useless of all. The following verses 
are designed to succeed immediately after 

-— — fights with justice on his side. 

Let laurels, drenched in pure Parnassian dews, 
Reward his mem'ry, dear to every Muse, &c.* 

I am obliged to you for your advice with respect to the man- 
ner of publication, and feel myself inclined to be determined by 
it. So far as I have proceeded on the subject of Expostulation, 
I have written with tolerable ease to myself, and in my own 
opinion (for an opinion lam obliged to have about what I write, 
whether I will or no,) with more emphasis and energy than in 
either of the others. But it seems to open upon me with an 
abundance of matter, that forebodes a considerable length ; and 
the time of year is come when, what with walking and garden- 
ing, I can find but little leisure for the pen. I mean, however, 
as soon as I have engrafted a new scion into the Progress of 
Error, instead of * * ^ *, and when I have transcribed Truth, 

* Vide Poems, vol. i. p. 1 ; where, in the next line, the epithet unshaken 
"'s substituted for the noblest, in the li^er. 



7b CORRESPONDENCE OF 

and sent it to you, to apply myself to the composition last un- 
dertaken, with as much industry as I can. If therefore the 
three first are put into press while I am spinning and weaving 
the last, the whole may perhaps be ready for publication before 
the proper season will be past. I mean at present that a few 
select smaller pieces, about seven or eight perhaps, the best I can 
find in a bookful that I have by me, shall accompany them. 
All together, they will furnish, I should imagine, a volume of 
tolerable bulk, that need not be indebted to an unreasonable 
breadth of margin for the importance of its figure. 

If a Board of Enquiry were to be established, at which poets 
w^re to undergo an examination respecting the motives that in- 
duced them to publish, and I were to be summoned to attend, 
that I might give an account of mine, I think I could truly say, 
what perhaps few poets could, that though I have no objection 
to lucrative consequences, if any such should follow, they are 
not my aim ; much less is it my ambition to exhibit myself to the 
world as a genius. What then, says Mr. President, can possibly 
be your motive? I answer, with a bow — Amusement. There 
is nothing but this — no occupation within the compass of my 
small sphere, Poetry excepted — that can do much towards di- 
verting that train of melancholy thoughts, which, when I am 
not thus employed, are for ever pouring themselves in upon me. 
And if I did not publish what I write, I could not interest my- 
self sufficiently in my own success, to make an amusement of it. 

In my account of the battle fought at Olney, I laid a 
snare for your curiosity, and succeeded. I supposed it would 
have an enigmatical appearance, and so it had ; but like most 
other riddles, when it comes to be solved, you will find that it 
was not worth the trouble of conjecture. — There are soldiers 
quartered at Newport and Olney- These met, by order of their 
respective officers, in Emberton Mai-sh, performed all the ma' 



WILLIAM COWPER. 77 

nofjuvres of a deedy battle, and the result was that this town 
was taken. Since I wrote, they have again encountered with 

the same intention ; and Mr. R kept a room for me and 

Mrs. Unwin, that we might sit and view them at our ease. We 
did so, but it did not answer our expectation ; for before the 
contest could be decided, the powder on both sides being ex- 
pended, the combatants were obliged to leave it an undecided 
contest. If it were possible that when two great armies spend 
the night in expectation of a battle, a third could silently steal 
away their ammunition and arms of every kind, what a come- 
dy would it make of that which always has such a tragical con- 
clusion ! 

Yours, my dear friend, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, April 8, 1781. 

Since I commenced author, my letters are even less 
worth your acceptance than they were before. I shall soon, 
however, lay down the character, and cease to trouble you with 
directions to a printer, at least till the summer is over. If I 
live to see the return of winter, I may perhaps assume it again; 
but my appetite for fame is not keen enough to combat with my 
love of fine weather, my love of indolence, and my love of gar- 
dening employments. 

I send you by Mr. Old my Works complete, bound in brown 
paper, and numbered according to the series in which I would 
have them published. With respect to the poem called Truth, 
it is so true that it can hardly fail of giving offence to an unen- 
lightened reader, I think, therefore, that in order to obviate 



78 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

in some measure those prejudices that will naturally erect their 
bristles against it, an explanatory preface, such as you (and no- 
body as well as you) can furnish me with, will have every ^race 
of propriety to recommend it. Or, if you are not averse to the 
task, and your avocations will allow you to undertake it, and 
if you think it would be still more proper, I should be glad to 
be indebted to you for a preface to the whole, I wish you, 
however, to consult your own judgment upon the occasion, and 
to engage in cither of these works, or neither, just as your dis- 
cretion guides you. 

I have written a great deal to-day, which must be my ex- 
cuse for an abrupt conclusion. Our love attends you both. We 
are in pretty good health ; Mrs. Unwin indeed better than 
usual : and as to me, I ail nothing but the incurable ailment. 
Yours, my dear friend, 

W. C. 

Thanks for the cocoa-nut. 

I send a cucumber, not of my own raising, and yet raised by 
me. 

Solve this enigma, dark enough 

To puzzle any brains 
Tliat are not downright puzzle-proof, 

And eat it for your pains. 



'10 THE RE>i. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY HEAR FRIEND, Monday, April 23, 1781. 

Having not the least doubt of your ability to execute 
just such a preface as I should wish to see prefixed to my publi- 
cation, and being convinced that you have no good foundation 



WILLIAM COWPER. 7y 

for those which you yourself entertain upon the subject, I neither 
withdraw my requisition, nor abate one jot of the earnestness 
with which 1 made it. I admit the delicacy of the occasion, 
but am far from apprehending that you will therefore find it 
difficult to succeed. You can draw a hair-stroke where another 
man would make a blot as broad as a sixpence. 

I am much obliged to you for the interest you take in the 
appearance of my Poems, and much pleased by the alacrity with 
which you do it. Your favourable opinion of them affords me 
a comfortable presage with respect to that of the public ; for 
though I make allowances for your partiality to me and mine, 
because mine, yet I am sure you would not suffer me unadmo- 
nished to add myself to the multitude of insipid rhimers, with 
whose productions the world is already too much pestered. 

It is worth while to send you a riddle, you make such a va- 
riety of guesses, and turn and tumble it about with such an in- 
dustrious curiosity. The solution of that in question is — let me 
see ; it requires some consideration to explain it, even though I 
made it. I raised the seed that produced the plant that pro- 
duced the fruit, that produced the seed that produced the fruit 
I sent you. This latter seed I gave to the gardener of Ter- 
ningham, who brought me the cucumber you mention. Thus 
you see I raised it — that is to say, I raised it virtually by hav- 
ing raised its progenitor; and yet I did not raise it, because the 
identical seed from which it grew was raised at a distance. You 
observe I did not speak rashly, when I spoke of it as dark 
enough to pose an CEdipus ; and have no need to call your own 
sagacity in question for falling short of the discovery. 

A report has prevailed at Olney that you are coming in a 
fortnight ; but taking it for granted that you know best when 
you shall come, and that you will make us happy in the samf 



30 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

knowledge as soon as you are possessed of it yourself, I did not 
venture to build any sane;ninc expectations upon it. 

I have at last read the second volume of Mr. 's work, 

and had some hope that I should prevail with myself to read 
the first likewise. I bejjjan his book at the latter end, because 
the first part of it was en2;aged when I received the second ; but 
I had not so good an appetite as a soldier of the Guards, who, I 
was informed when I lived in London, would for a small mat- 
ter eat up a cat alive, beginning at her tail and finishing with 
her whiskers. 

Youi's ut semper, 

W. C. 



10 THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MV DEAR FRIEND, May 28, 1781. 

I am much obliged to you for the pains you have taken 
with my Table Talk, and wish that my viva voce Table Talk 
could repay you for the trouble you have had with the written 
one. 

The season is wonderfully improved within this day or two: 
and if these cloudless skies are continued to us, or rather if the 
cold winds do not set in again, promises you a pleasant excur- 
sion, as far, at least, as the weather can conduce to make it such. 
You seldom complain of too much sunshine, and if you are pre- 
pared for an heat somewhat like that of Africa, the south walk in 
our long garden will exactly suit you. Reflected from the gra- 
vel, and from the walls, and beating upon your head at the same- 
time, it may possibly make you wish you could enjoy for an 
hour or two that immensity of shade afibrded by the gigantic 
Irccs still growing in the land of your captivity. If you could 



WILLIAM COWPER. §1 

-;pend a day now and then in those forests, and return with a 
wish to England, it would be no small addition to the number of 
your best pleasures. But pennse non homini datse. The time 
will come perhaps (but death must come first) when you will 
be able to visit them without either danger, trouble, or expense ; 
and when the contemplation of those well-remembered scenes 
will awaken in you emotions of gratitude and praise surpassing 
all you could possibly sustain at present. In this sense, I sup- 
pose, there is a heaven upon earth at all times, and that the dis- 
embodied spirit may find a peculiar joy arising from the con- 
templation of those places it was formerly conversant with, and 
so far, at least, be reconciled to a world it was once so weary 
of, as to use it in the delightful way of thankful recollection. 

Miss Catlett must not think of any other lodging than we 
can without any inconvenience, as we shall with all possible 
pleasure, furnish her with. We can each of us say — that is, I 
can say it in Latin, and Mrs. Unwin in English — Nihil tui a 
me alienum puto. 

Having two more letters to write, I find myself obliged to 
shorten this ; so once more wishing you a good journey, and 
ourselves the happiness of receiving you in good health and 
spirits. 

I remain 

Affectionately yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAR FRIEND, July 7, 1781. 

Mr. Old brought us the acceptable news of your safe ar- 
rival. My sensations at your departure were far from pleasant, 



82 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

and Mrs. Unwin suflfercil more upon the occasion than when 
you first took leave of OIney. Wiien we shall meet asjain, and 
in what circumstances, or whether we shall meet or not, is an 
article to be found no where but in that volume of Providence 
which belongs to the current year, and will not he understood 
till it is accomplished. This I know, that your visit was most 
agreeable here. It was so even to me, who, though I live in 
the midst of many agreeables, am but little sensible of their 
charms. But when you came, I determined, as much as pos- 
sible, to be deaf to the suggestions of despair ; but if I could 
contribute but little to the pleasure of the opportunity, 1 might 
not dash it with unseasonable melancholy, and, like an instru- 
ment with a broken string, interrupt the harmony of the con- 
cert. 

Lady Austen, waving all forms, has paid us the first visit; 
and not content with showing us that proof of her respect, 
made handsome apologies for her intrusion. We returned the 
visit yesterday. She is a lively, agreeable woman ; has seen 
much of the world, and accounts it a great simpleton, as it is. 
She laughs and makes laugh, and keeps up a conversation with- 
out seeming to labour at it. 

I had rather submit to chastisement now, than be obliged to 
undergo it hereafter. If Johnson, therefore, will mark with a 
marginal Q, those lines that he or his object to as not suffi- 
ciently finished, I will willingly retouch them, or give a reason 
for my refusal. I shall moreover think myself obliged by any 
hints of that sort, as I do already to somebody, who, by running 
here and there two or three paragraphs into one, has very much 
improved the arrangement of my matter. I am apt, I know, to 
fritter it into two many pieces, and, by doing so, to disturb that 
order to which all writings must owe their pei'spicwity, at least 
in a considerable measure. With all that carelessness of revisal 



WILLIAM COWPER. 83 

I have exercised upon the sheets as they have been transmitted 
to me, I have been guilty of an oversight, and have suffered a 
great fault to escape me, which I shall be glad to correct, if not 
too late. 

In the Progress of Error, a part of the Young Squire's ap- 
paratus, before he yet enters upon his travels, is said to be 

Memorandam-book to minute down 

The several posts, and where the chaise broke down. 

Here, the reviewers would say, is not only " down," but 
" down derry down" into the bargain, the word being made to 
rhime to itself. This never occurred to me till last night, just 
as I was stepping into bed. I should be glad, however, to alter 
it thus — 

With memorandum-book for every town. 

And ev'ry inn, and where the chaise broke down. 

I have advanced so far in Charity, that I have ventured to give 
Johnson notice of it, and his option whether he will print it 
now or hereafter. I rather wish he may choose the present 
time, because it will be a proper sequel to Hope, and because I 
am willing to think it will embellish the collection. 

Whoever means to lake my phiz will find himself sorely per- 
plexed in seeking for a fit occasion. That I shall not give him 
one, is certain ; and if he steals one, he must be as cunning and 
quick-sighted a thief as Autolycus himself. His best course, 
will be to draw a face, and call it mine, at a venture. They 
who have not seen me these twenty years will say. It may 
possibly be a striking likeness^ now, though it bears no resem- 
blance to what he was : time makes great alterations. They 
who know me better will say perhaps. Though it is not per- 
fectly the thing, yet there is somewhat of the cast of his coun- 
tenance. If the nose was a little longer, and the chin a little 



y4 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

shorter, the eyes a little smaller, and the forehead a little more 
protuberant, it would be just the man. And thus, without see- 
ini^ mc at all, the artist may represent me to the public eye, 
with as much exactness as yours lias bestowed upon you, though, 
I suppose, the original was full in his view when he made the 
attempt. 

We are both as well as when you left us. Our hearty affec- 
tions wait upon yourself and Mrs. Newton, not forgetting 
Euphrosyne, the laughing lady. 

Yours, my dear sir, 

W. C. 



TO THE UEV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MV DEAR FRIEND, July .32, 1781. 

I am sensible of your difficulties in finding opportuni- 
ties to write ; and therefore, though always desirous and some- 
times impatient to hear from you, am never peevish when I am 
disappointed. 

Johnson having begun to print, has given me some sort of 
security for his perseverance ; else, the tardiness of his opera- 
tions would almost tempt me to despair of the end. He has, 
indeed, time enough before him ; but that very circumstance is 
sometimes a snare, and gives occasions to delays that cannot be 
remedied. Witness the hare in the fal)le, who fell asleep in 
the midst of the race, ami waked not till the tortoise had won 
the prize. 

Taking it for granted that the new niarriage-bill would pass, 
I took occasion, in the Address to Liberty, to celebrate the 
joyful Kra ; but in doing so afforded another proof that poets are 
not always prophets, for the House of Lords have thrown it 



WILLIAM COVVPER. 85 

out. I am, however, provided with four hues to fdl up the 
o-ap, which I suppose it will be time enough to insert when 
the copy is sent down. I am in the middle of an affair called 
Conversation, which, as Table Talk serves in the present vo- 
lume by vvay of introductory fiddle to the band that follows, I 
design shall perform the same office in a second, 
sic brevi fortes jaculamur sevo. 

You cannot always find time to write, and I cannot always 
write a great deal ; not for want of time, but for want of some- 
thing equally requisite ; perhaps materials, perhaps spirits, or 
perhaps more frequently for want oX ability to overcome an in- 
dolence that I have sometimes heard even you complain of. 
Yours, my dear sir, and Mrs. Newton's, 

W. C. 



TO MRS. NEWTON. 



DEAR MADAM, August, 1781. 

Though much obliged to you for the favour of your 
last, and ready enough to acknowledge the debt, the present, 
however, is not a day in which I should have chosen to pay it. 
A dejection of mind, which perhaps may be removed by to- 
morrow, rather disqualifies me for writing, — a business I would 
always perform in good spirits, because melancholy is catching, 
especially where there is much sympathy to assist the contagion. 
But certain poultry, which I understand are about to pay their 
respects to you, have advertised for an agreeable companion, 
and I find myself obliged to embrace the opportunity of going 
to town with them in that capacity. * * * * * 

While the world lasts, fashion will continue to lead it by the 
nose. And, after all, what can fashion do for its most obse- 



86 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

quious followers ? It can ring the changes upon the same things, 
and it can do no more. Whether cur hats he white or hlack, 
our caps hij^h or low, — whether we wear two watches or one, 
is of little consequence. There is indeed an appearance of va- 
riety ; but the folly and vanity that dictates and adopts the 
chan2;e, are invariably the same. When the fashions of a par- 
ticular period appear more reasonable than those of the preced- 
ing, it is not because the world is grown more reasonable than 
it was ; but because in a course of perpetual changes, some of 
them must sometimes happen to be for the better. Neither do 
I suppose the preposterous customs that prevail at present, a 
proof of its greater folly. In a few years, perhaps next year, 
the fine gentleman will shut up his umbrella, and give it to his 
sister, filling his hand with a crab-tree cudgel instead of it : 
and when he has done so, will he be wiser than now ? By no 
means. The love of change will have betrayed him into a 
propriety, which, in reality, he has no taste for, all his merit 
on the occasion amounting to no more than this — that, being 
weary of one plaything, he has taken up another. 

In a note I received from Johnson last week, he expresses a 
wish that my pen may be still employed. Supposing it possi- 
ble that he would yet be glad to swell the volume, I have given 
him an order to draw upon me for eight hundred lines, if he 
chooses it ; Conversation, a piece which I think I mentioned 
in my last to Mr. Newton, being finished. If Johnson sends 
for it, I shall transcribe it as soon as I can, and transmit it to 
Charles-square. Mr. Newton will take the trouble to forward 
it to the press. It is not a dialogue, as the title would lead 
you to surmise ; nor does it bear the least resemblance to Table 
Talk, except that it is serio-comic, like all the rest. My de- 
sign in it is to convince the world that they make but an in- 
diflerent use of their tongues, considering the intention of Pro- 



WILLIAM COWPER. §7 

vidence when he endued them with the faculty of speech ; to 
pouit out the abuses, which is the jocular part of the business, 
and to prescribe the remedy, which is the grave and sober. 

We felt ourselves not the less obliged to you for the cocoa- 
nuts, though they were good for nothing. They contained 
nothing but a putrid liquor with a round white lump, which in 
taste and substance much resembled tallow, and was the size 
of a walnut. Nor am I the less indebted to your kindness for 
the fish, though none is yet come. 

Yours, dear Madam, 

Most affectionately, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Aug. 16, 1781. 

I might date my letter from the green-house, which we 
have converted into a summer parlour. The walls hung with 
garden mats, and the floor covered with a carpet, the sun too 
in a great measure excluded, by an awning of mats which for- 
bids him to shine any where except upon the carpet, it affords 
us by far the pleasantest retreat in Olney. We eat, drink, and 
sleep, where we always did ; but here we spend all the rest of 
our time, and find that the sound of* the wind in the trees, and 
the singing of birds, are much more agreeable to our ears than 
the incessant barking of dogs and screaming of children. It is 
an observation that naturally occurs upon the occasion, and 
which many other occasions furnish an opportunity to make, 
that people long for what they have not, and overlook the good 
in their possession. This is so true in the present instance, that 
for years past I should have thought myself happy to enjoy a 



68 COURESPONDKNCE OF 

retircmcnt even less Hatterins; to my natural taste than this in 
which 1 am now writing ; and have often looked wistfully at a 
snui;' cottage, which, on account of its situation at a distance 
from noise and disagreeable objects, seemed to promise me all 
I could wish or expect, so far as happiness may be said to be 
local ; never once adverting to this comfortable nook, which 
alVords me all that coidd be found in the most sequestered her- 
mitage, witli the advantage of having all those accommodations 
near at hand which no hermitage could possibly afibrd mc. 
People imagine they should be happy in circumstances which 
they would fnul insupportably burthensome in less than a week. 
A man that has been clothed in tine linen, and fared sumptu- 
ously every day, envies the peasant under a thatched hovel ; 
who, in return, envies him as much his palace and hispleasure- 
gixnmd. Could they change situations, the fine gentleman 
would find his ceilings were too low, and that his casements ad- 
mitted too much wind ; that he had no cellar for his wine, and 
no wine to put in his cellar. These, with a thousand other 
mortifying deficiencies, would shatter his romantic project into 
innumerable fragments in a moment. The clown, at the sam.e 
time, would find the accession of so much unwieldy treasure an 
incumbrance quite incompatible with an hour's ease. His 
choice would be puzzled by variety. He would drink to excess, 
because he would foresee no end of his abundance ; and he 
would eat himself sick for the same reason. He would have no 
idea of any other happiness than sensual gratification ; wbuld 
make himself a beast, and die of his good fortune. The rich 
gentleman had, perhaps, or might have had, if he pleaseii, at 
the shortest notice, just such a recess as this ; but if he had it, 
he overlooketl it, or, if he had it not, forgot that he might 
command it whenever he would. The rustic too, was actually 



WILLIAM COWPER. S9 

in possession of some blessings, which he was a ibol to relin- 
quish, but which he could neither see nor feel, because he had 
the daily and constant use of them; such as good health, bodily- 
strength, a head and a heart that never ached, and temperance. 
to the practice of which he was bound by necessity, that, hu- 
manl)' speaking, was a pledge and a security for the continu- 
ance of them all. 

Thus I have sent you a school-boy's theme. When I write 
to you, I do not write without thinking, but always without pre- 
meditation : the consequettce is, that such thoughts as pass through 
my head when I am not writing, make the subject of my let- 
ters to you. 

Johnson sent me lately a sort of apology for his printer's 
negligence, with his promise of greater diligence for the future. 
There was need enough of both. I have received but one sheet 
since you left us. Still, indeed, I see that there is time enough 
before us; but I see likewise that no length of time can be suffi- 
cient for the accomplishment of a work that does not go forward. 
I know not yet whether he will add Conversation to those poems 
already in his hands, nor do I care much. No man ever wrote 
such quantities of verse, as I have written this last year, with 
so much indifference about the event, or rather, with so little 
ambitidn of public praise. My pieces are such as may possibly 
be made useful. The more they are approved, the more likely 
they are to spread, and consequently the more likely to attain 
the end of usefulness ; which, as I said once before, except my 
present amusement, is the only end I propose. And even in 
the pursuit of this purpose, commendable as it is in itself, I have 
not the spur I should once have had ; — my labour must go unre- 
warded, and as Mr. R once said, I am raising a scaffold be- 
fore a house that others are to live in, and not I. 

M 



ffQ CORRESPONDENCK OF 

I have left myself no room for politics, which 1 thought, 
when I began, would have been my princij)al theme. 

Yours, my dear sir, 

W. ( 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Aug. 21, 1781. 

You wish you could employ your time to better purpose, 
yet are never idle. In all that you say or do ; whether you arc 
alone, or pay visits, or receive them ; whether you think or 
write, or walk or sit still ; the state of your mind is such as dis- 
covers even to yourself, in spite of all its wanderings, that there 
is a principle at bottom whose determined tendency is towards 
the best things. I do not at all doubt the truth of what you 
say, when you complain of that crowd of trifling thoughts that 
pesters you without ceasing; but then you always have a serious 
thought standing at the door of your imagination, like a justice 
of peace with the riot-act in his hand, ready to read it, and dis- 
perse the mob. Here lies the difference between you and me. 
My thoughts are clad in a sober livery, for the most part as 
grave as that of a bishop's servants. They turn too upon s^ .- 
ritual subjects, but the tallest fellow and the loudest amongst 
them all, is he who is continually crying out with a loud voice, 
Return est de ie, periisti. You wish for more attention, 1 for 
less. Dissipation itself would be welcome to me, so it were not 
a vicious one ; but however earnestly invited, it is coy, and keeps 
at a distance. Yet with all this distressing gloom upon my mind, 
I experience, as you do, the slipperiness of the present hour, 
and the rapidity with which time escapes me. Every thing 
around us, and every thing that befalls us, constitutes a variety, 



WILLIAM COWPER. gi 

which, whether agreeable or otherwise, has still a thievish pro- 
pensity, and steals from us clays, months, and years, with such 
unparalleled address, that even while we say they are here, 
they are gone. From infancy to manhood is rather a tedious 
period, chiefly, I suppose, because at that time we act under the 
control of others, and are not suffered to have a will of our 
own. But thence downward into the vale of years, is such a 
declivity, that we have just an opportunity to reflect upon the 
steepness of it, and then find ourselves at the bottom. 

Here is a new scene opening, which, whether it perform what 
it promises or not, will add fresh plumes to the wings of time; 
at least while it continues to be a subject of contemplation. If 
the project take effect, a thousand varieties will attend the change 
it will make in our situation at Olncy. If not, it will serve, 
however, to speculate and converse upon, and steal away many 
hours, by engaging our attention, before it be entirely dropped. 
Lady Austen, very desirous of retirement, especially of a re- 
tirement near her sister, an admirer of Mr. Scott as a preacher, 
and of your too humble servants now in the green-house, as the 
most agreeable creatures in the world, is at present determined 
to settle here. That part of our great building which is at pre- 
sent occupied by Dick Coleman, his wife, child, and a thousand 
ii'Hs, is the corner of the world she chooses, above all others, as 
the place of her future residence. Next spring twelvemonth 
she begins to repair and beautify, and the following winter (by 
which time the lease of her house in town will determine) she 
intends to lake possession. I am highly pleased with the plan, 
upon Mrs. Unwin's account, who, since Mrs. Newton's depar- 
ture, is destitute of all female connexion, and has not, in any 
emergency, a woman to speak to. Mrs. Scott is indeed in the 
neighbourhood, and an excellent person, but always engaged by 
a close attention to her familv, and no more than ourselves a 



93 CORRESPOlsrDENCE 01 

lover of visitipg. But these things are all at present in the 
clouds. Two years must intervene, and in two years not only 
this project, but all the projects in Europe may be disconcerted. 

Cocoa-nut naught, 
Fish too dear, 
None must be bought 
For us that are here, 

No lobster on earth, 
That ever I saw, 
To me would be worth 
Sixpence a claw. 

So, dear Madam, wait 
Till fish can be got 
At a reas'nable rate, 
Whether lobster or not ; 

Till the French and the Dutch 
Have quitted the seas. 
And then send as much 
And as oft as you please. 

Yours, my dear Sir, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Aug. 25, 1781, 

liy Johnson's last note (for I have received a packet 
from him since I wrote last to you) I am ready to suspect that 
you have seen him, and endeavoured to quicken his proceed- 
ings. His assurance of greater expedition leads me to think 



WILLIAM COWPER. 93 

SO. I know little of booksellers and printers, but have heard 
from others that they are the most dilatory of all people ; other- 
wise, I am not in a hurry, nor would be so troublesome : but 
am obliged to you nevertheless for your interference, if his 
promised alacrity be owing to any spur that you have given 
him. He chooses to add Conversation to the rest, and says 
he will give me notice when he is ready for it ; but I shall 
send it to you by the first opportune conveyance, and beg you 
to deliver it over to him. He wishes me not to be afraid of 
making the volume too large ; by which expression I suppose 
he means, that if I had still another piece, there would be room 
for it. At present I have not, but am in the way to produce 
2X).oihev, faveat tnodo Musa. I have already begun and pro- 
ceeded a little way in a poem called Retirement. My view in 
choosing that subject is to direct to the proper use of the oppor- 
tunities it affords for the cultivation of a man's best interests; 
to censure the vices and follies which people carry with them 
into their retreats, where they make no other use of their lei- 
sure than to gratify themselves with the indulgence of their 
favourite appetites, and to pay themselves, by a life of pleasure, 
for a life of business. In conclusion, I would enlarge upon the 
happiness of that state, when discreetly enjoyed and religiously 
improved. But all this is, at present, in embryo. I generally 
despair of my progress when I begin ; but if, like my travelling 
'squire, I should kindle as I go, this likewise may make a part 
of the volume, for I have time enough before me. 

I forgot to mention that Johnson uses the discretion my poet- 
ship has allowed him, with much discernment. He has sug- 
gested several alterations, or rather marked several defective 
passages, which I have corrected much to the advantage of the 
poems. In the last sheet he sent me, he noted three such, all 
of which I have reduced into better order. In the forearoing: 



94 CORIJESPONUKNCK OF 

sheet, I assented to his criticisms in some instances, and chose 
to abide by the original expression in others. Thus we jog on 
together comfortably enough ; and perhaps it would be as well 
for authors in general, if their booksellers, when men of some 
taste, were allowed, though not to tinker the work themselves, 
yet to point out the flaws, and humbly to recommend an im- 
provement. 

Yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Sept. 9, 1781. 

I am not willing to let the post set off without me, 
though I have nothing material to put into his bag. I am writ- 
ing in the green-house, where my myrtles, ranged before the 
windows, make the most agreeable blind imaginable ; where I 
am undisturbed by noise, and where I see none but pleasing 
objects. The situation is as favourable to my purpose as I could 
wish ; but the state of my mind is not so, and the deficiencies 
I feel there are not to be remedied by the stillness of my retire- 
ment, or the beauty of the scene before me. I believe it is in 
part owing to the excessive heat of the weather, that I find my- 
self so much at a loss when I attempt either verse or prose : 
my animal spirits are depressed, and dulness is the consequence. 
That dulness, however, is all at your service ; and the portion 
of it that is necessary to fill up the present epistle, I send you 
without the least reluctance. 

I am sorry to fmd that the censure I have passed upon Occi- 
duus is even better founded than I supposed. Lady Austen 
has been at his sabbatical concerts, which, it seems, are com- 



WILLIAM COWPER. 95 

posed of song-tunes and psalm-tunes indiscriminately ; music 
without words — and I suppose one may say, consequently, 
without devotion. On a certain occasion, when her niece was 
sitting at her side, she asked his opinion concerning the lawful- 
ness of such amusements as are to be found at Vauxhall or 
Ranelagh ; meaning only to draw from him a sentence of dis- 
approbation, that Miss Green might be the better reconciled to 
the restraint under which she was held, when she found it war- 
ranted by the judgment of so famous a divine. But she was 
disappointed : he accounted them innocent, and recommended 
them as useful. Curiosity, he said, was natural to young per- 
sons; and it was wrong to deny them a gratification which 
they might be indulged in with the greatest safely; because the 
denial being unreasonable, the desire of it wonld still subsist. 
It was but a walk, and a walk was as harmless in one place 
as another; with other arguments of a similar import, which 
might have proceeded with more grace, at least with less of- 
fence, from the lips of a sensual layman. He seems, together 
with others of our acquaintance, to have suffered considerably 
in his spiritual character by his attachment to music. The law- 
fulness of it, when used with moderation, and in its proper 
place, is unquestionable ; but I believe that wine itself, though 
a man be guilty of habitual intoxication, does not more de- 
bauch and befool the natural understanding, than music, al- 
ways music, music in season and out of season, weakens and 
destroys the spiritual discernment. If it is not used with an 
unfeigned reference to the worship of God, and with a design 
to assist the soul in the performance of it, which cannot be 
the case when it is the only occupation, it degenerates into a 
sensual delight, and becomes a most powerful advocate for the 
admission of other pleasures, grosser perhaps in degree, but in 
t.heir kind the same. 



96 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

]VIr. M , though a simple, honest, good man — such, at 

least, he appears to us — is not likely to give general satisfac- 
tion. He preaches the truth, it seems, but not the whole 
truth ; and a certain member of that church, who signed the 
letter of invitation, which was conceived in terms sufficiently 
encouraging, is likely to prove one of his most strenuous op- 
posers. The little man, however, has an independent fortune, 
and has nothing to do but to trundle himself away to some other 
place, where he may find hearers, neither so nice nor so wise 
as we are at Olney. 

Yours, my dear Sir, 

With our united love, 

W. C. 



TO MRS. NEWTON. 

Sept. 16, 1781. 
A noble theme demands a noble verse, 
In such I thank you for your fine oyster*. 
The barrel was magnificently large, 
But being sent to Olney at free charge, 
Was not inserted in the driver's list, 
And therefore ovevlook'd, forgot, or miss'd ; 
For when the messenger whom we dispatch'd 
Enquired for oysters, Hob his noddle scratch'd ; 
Denying that his wagon or his wain 
Did any such commodity contain. 
In consequence of which, your welcome boon 
Did not arrive till yesterday at noon ; 
In consequence of which some chanced to die, 
And some, though very sweet, were very dry. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 97 

Notv Madam says, (and what she says must still 
Deserve attention, say she what she will,) 
That what we call the Diligence, be-case 
It goes to London with a swifter pace. 
Would better suit the carriage of your gift, 
Returning downward with a pace as swift; 
And therefore recommends it with this aim — 
To save at least three days, — the price the same ; 
For though it will not carry or convey 
For less than twelve pence, send whate'eryou may- 
For oysters bred upon the salt sea shore, 
Pack'd in a barrel, they will charge no more. 

News have I none that I can deign to write ; 
Save that it rain'd prodigiously last night ; 
And that ourselves were, at the seventh hour, 
Caught in the first beginning of the show'r ; 
But walking, running, and with much ado, 
Got home — ^just time enough to be wet through. 
Yet both are well, and, wond'rous to be told, 
Soused as we were, we yet have caught no cold ; 
And wishing just the same good hap to you. 
We say, good Madam, and good Sir, Adieu ! 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Tlie Greenhouse, Sept. 18, 1781, 

I return your preface, with many thanks for so affec- 
tionate an introduction to the public. I have observed nothing 
that in my judgment required alteration, except a single sen- 
tence in the first paragraph, which I have not obliterated, that 
you may restore it, if you please, by obliterating my interli=' 
aeation. My reason for proposing an amendment of it wa*? 

N 



9S CORRESPONDKNCE OF 

that your meaning did not immediately strike me, which there- 
fore I have endeavoured to make more obvious. The rest is 
what I would wish it to be. You say, indeed, more in my 
commendation, than I can modestly say of myself; but some- 
thing will be allowed to the partiality of friendship, on so in- 
teresting an occasion. 

I have no objection in the world to your conveying a copy to 
Dr. Johnson ; though I well know that one of his pointed sar- 
casms, if he should happen to be displeased, would soon find 
its way into all companies, and spoil the sale. He writes, in- 
deed, like a man that thinks a great deal, and that sometimes 
thinks religiously : but report informs me that he has been se- 
vere enough in his animadversions upon Dr. Watts, who was 
nevertheless, if I am in any degree a judge of verse, a man of 
true poetical ability ; careless, indeed, for the most part, and 
inattentive too often to those niceties which constitute elegance 
of expression, but frequently sublime in his conceptions, and 
masterly in his execution. Pope, I have heard, had placed 
him once in tiie Dunciad ; but, on being advised to read before 
he judged him, was convinced that he deserved other treat- 
ment, and thrust somebody's blockhead into the gap, whose 
name, consisting of a monosyllable, happened to fit it. What- 
ever faults, however, I may be chargeable with as a poet, I can- 
not accuse myself of negligence. I never suffer a line to pass 
till I have made it as good as I can ; and though my doctrines 
may offend this king of critics, he will not, I flatter myself, 
he disgusted by slovenly inaccuracy, either .in the numbers, 
rhymes, or language. Let the rest take its chance. It is pos- 
sible he may be pleased ; and if he should, I shall have engaged 
on my side one of the best trumpeters in the kingdom. Let 
him only speak as favourably of mo as he has spoken of Sir 
Richard Blackmore (who, though he shines in his poem called 



WILLIAM COWPER. 99 

Creation, has written more absurdities in verse than any writer 
of our country,) and my success will be secured. 

I have often promised myself a laugh with you about your 
pipe, but have always forgotten it when I have been writing, 
and at present I am not much in a laughing humour. You 
will observe, however, for your comfort and the honour of 
that same pipe, that it hardly falls within the line of my cen- 
sure. You never fumigate the ladies, or force them out of 
company ; nor do you use it as an incentive to hard-drinking. 
Your friends, indeed, have reason to complain that it frequent- 
ly deprives them of the pleasure of your own conversation 
while it leads you either into your study or your garden ; but 
in all other respects it is as innocent a pipe as can be. Smoke 
away, therefore ; and remember that if one poet has condemn- 
ed the practice, a better than he (the witty and elegant Haw- 
kins Browne) has been warm in the praise of it. 

Eeiirement grows, but more slowly than any of its predeces- 
sors. Time was when I could with ease produce fifty, sixty, 
or seventy lines in a morning : now, I generally fall short of 
thirty, and am sometimes forced to be content with a dozen. 
It consists at present, I suppose, of between six and seven hun- 
dred ; so that there are hopes of an end, and I dare say John- 
son will give me time enough to finish it. 

I nothing add but this — that atill I am 
Your most affectionate and humble 

WILLIAM. 



100 COKRESPONDENCE OF 



TO THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN. 

MV DEAR FRIEND, Sept. 26, 1781. 

I may, I suppose, congratulate you on your safe arrival 
at Jirighthclmstonc ; and am the belter pleased with your de- 
sign to close the summer there, because I am acquainted with 
the place, and, by the assistance of fancy, can, without much 
dilficulty, join myself to the party, and partake with you in 
your amusements and excursions. It happened singularly 
enough, that just before I received your last, in which you ap- 
prise me of your intended journey, I had been writing upon 
the subject, having found occasion towards the close of my last 
poem, called Retirement, to take some notice of the modern 
passion for sea-side entertainments, and to direct to the means 
by which they might be made useful as well as agreeable. I 
think with you, that the most magnificent object under heaven 
is the great deep ; and cannot but feel an unpolite species of 
astonishment, when I consider the multitudes that view it with- 
out emotion, and even witliout reflection. In all its various 
forms, It is an object of all others the most suited to affect us 
with lasting impressions of the awful Power that created and 
controls it. I am the less inclined to think this negligence ex- 
cusable, because, at a time of life when I gave as little attention 
to religious subjects as almost any man, I yet remember that 
the waves would preach to me, and that in the midst of dissi- 
pation I had an ear to hear them. One of Shakspeare's charac- 
ters says, — " I am never merry when 1 hear sweet music." 
The same effect that harmony seems to have had upon him, I 
have experienced from the sight and sound of the ocean, which 
have often composed my thoughts into a melancholy not un- 
pleasing, nor without its use. So much for Signor Nettuno. 



WILLIAM COWPEU. 101 

Lady Austen goes to London this day se'nnight. We have 
told her that you shall visit her ; which is an enterprise you 
may engage in with the more alacrity, because as she loves 
every thing that has any connexion with your motiier, she is 
sure to feel a sufficient partiality for her son. Add to this, that 
your own personal recommendations are I)y no means small, or 
such as a woman of her fine taste and discernment can possibly 
overlook. She has many features in her character which you 
will admire ; but one, in particular, on acconnt of the rarity of 
it, will engage your attention and esteem. She has a degree of 
gratitude in her composition, so quick a sense of obligation, as 
is hardly to be found in any rank of life, and, if report say true, 
is scarce indeed in the superior. Discover but a wish to please 
her, and she never forgets it ; not only thanks you, but the 
tears will start into her eyes at the recollection of the smallest 
service. With these fine feelings, she has the most, and the 
most harmless vivacity you can imagine. In short, she is — 
what you will find her to be, upon half an hour's conversation 
with her ; and when I hear you have a journey to town in con- 
templation, I will send yoii her address. 

Your mother is well, and joins with me in wishing that you 
may spend your time agreeably upon the coast of Sussex. 

Yours, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 3, 1781. ' 

Your draft is worded for twenty pounds, and figured for 
twenty-one. I thought it more likely the mistake should be 
made in the figures than in the words, and have sent you a re- 



103 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

ceipt accordingly. I am obliged to you for it, and no less bound 
to acknowledge your kindness in thinking for a man so little 
accustomed to think for himself. The result of my deliberations 
on the subject proposed is, that it will be better, on many ac- 
counts, to sell the chambers, and to deposit the money in the 
funds. Public credit wants a lift, and I would willingly show 
my readiness to afford it one at so critical a juncture. If you 
can sell M at the same time, so as to turn him to any ac- 
count, you have my free leave to do it. It has been a dry 
summer, and frogs may possibly be scarce, and fetch a good 
price ; though how his frogship has attained to the honour of 
that appellation, at this distance from the scene of his activity, 
I am not able to conjecture. 

I hope you have had a pleasant vacation, and have laid in a 
fresh stock of health and spirits for the business of the approach- 
ing winter. As for me, I have just finished my last piece, call- 
ed Retirement ; which, as soon as it is fit to appear in public, 
shall, together with all the rest of its fraternity, lay itself at 
your feet. 

My affectionate respects attend Mrs. Hill and j'ourself. 

. Yours truly, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 4, 1781. 

I generally write the day before the post, but yesterday 
had no opportunity, being obliged to employ myself in settling 
my green-house for the winter. I am now writing before 
breakfast, that I may avail myself of every inch of time for the 
purpose. N. B., An expression a critic would quarrel with. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 103 

and call it by some hard name, signifying a jumble of ideas, 
and an unnatural match between time and space. 

I am glad to be undeceived respecting the opinion I had been 
erroneously led into on the subject of Johnson's criticism on 
Watts. Nothing can be more judicious, or more characteristic 
of a distinguishing taste, than his observations upon that wri- 
ter ; though I think him a little mistaken in his notion, that di- 
vine subjects have never been poetically treated with success. 
A little more Christian knowledge and experience would per- 
haps enable him to discover excellent poetry, upon spiritual 
themes, in the aforesaid little Doctor. I perfectly acquiesce in 
the propriety of sending Johnson a copy of my productions ; 
and I think it would be well to send it in our joint names, ac- 
companied with a handsome card, such an one as you will 
know how to fabricate, and such as may predispose him to a 
favourable perusal of the book, by coaxing him into a good 
temper ; for he is a great bear, with all his learning and pene- 
tration. 

I forgot to tell you in my last, that I was well pleased with 
your proposed appearance in the title-page under the name of 
the editor. I do not care under how many names you appear 
in a book that calls me its author. In my last piece, which I 
finished the day before yesterday, I have told the public that I 
live upon the banks of the Ouse : that public is a great simple- 
ton if it does not know that you live in London ; it will conse- 
quently know that 1 had need of the assistance of some friend 
in town, and that I could have recourse to nobody with more 
propriety than yourself I shall transcribe and submit to your 
approbation as fast as possible. I have now, I think, finished my 
volume ; indeed I am almost weary of composing, having spent 
a year in doing nothing else. I reckon my volume will consist 
of about eight thousand lines. 

Yours, my dear friend. W. C, 



104 COBllESPONDENCE OF 



'10 THK REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAU FltlEND, Oct. 14, 1781 

I would not willingly deprive you of any comfort, and 
therefore would wish you to comfort yourself as much as you 
can with a notion that you are a more bountiful correspondent 
than I. You will give me leave in the mean time, however, 
to assert to myself a share in the same species of consolation, 
and to enjoy the flatlering recollection that I have sometimes 
written three letters to your one. I never knew a poet, except 
myself, who was punctual in any thing, or to be depended on 
for the due discharge of any duty, except what he thought he 
owed to the Muses. The moment a man takes it into his foolish 
head that he has what the world calls Genius, he gives himself 
a discharge from the servile drudgery of all friendly offices, and 
becomes good for nothing, except in the pursuit of his favourite 
employment. But I am not yet vain enough to think myself 
entitled to such self-conferred honours, and though I have sent 
much poetry to the press, or, at least, what I hope my readers 
will account such, am still as desirous as ever of a place in your 
heart, and to take all opportunities to convince you that you have 
still the same in mine. My attention to my poetical function 
has, I confess, a little interfered of late with my other employ- 
ments, and occasioned my writing less frequently than I should 
have otherwise done. But it is over, at least for the present, 
and I think for some time to come. 1 have transcribed Retire- 
ment , and send it. You will be so good as to forward it to 
Johnson, who will forward it, I supjiose, to the public, in his 
own time ; but not very speedily, moving as he does. The post 
brought me a sheet this afternoon, but we have not yet reached 
(he end of Hope. 

Mr. Scoll, I perceive by yours to him, has mentioned one of 



WILLIAM COWPEK. 105 

his troubles, but I believe not the principal one. The question, 
whether lie shall have an assistant at the great house in Mr. 

R. , is still a question, or, at least, a subject of discontent, 

between Mr. Scott and the people. In a tete-a-tete I had with 
this candidate for the chair, in the course of the last week, 1 
told him my thoughts upon the subject plainly ; advised him to 
change places, by the help of fancy, with Mr. Scott, for a mo- 
ment, and to ask himself how he would like a self-intruded 
deputy; advised him likewise by no means to address Mr. 
Scott any more upon the matter, for that he might be sure he 
would never consent to it; and concluded with telling him, that 
if he persisted in his purpose of speaking to the people, the pro- 
bable consequence would be, that, sooner or later, Mr. Scott 
would be forced out of the parish, and the blame of his expul- 
sion would all light upon him. He heard, approved, and, I think 
the very next day, put all my good counsel to shame, at least 
a considerable j)art of it, by applying to Mr. Scott, in company 
with Mr. P , for his permission to speak at the Sunday even- 
ing lecture. Mr. Scott, as I had foretold, was immoveable; 
but offered, for the satisfaction of his hearers, to preach three 
times to them on the Sabbxith, which he could have done, Mr. 
Jones having kindly offered, though without their knowledge, 
to officiate for him at Weston. Mi\ R. answered, " That will 
not do, Sir ; it is not v/hat the people wish ; they want variety .'' 
Mr. Scott replied very wisely, " If they do, they must be con- 
tent without it ; it is not my duty to indulge that humour." 
This is the last intelligence I have had upon the subject. I re- 
ceived it not from Mr. Scott, but from an ear-witness. 

I did not suspect, till the Reviewers told me so, that you are 
made up of artifice and design, and that your ambition is to de- 
lude your hearers. Well — I suppose they please themselves 
with the thought of having mortified you ; but how much are 



106 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

they mistaken ! They shot at you, and their arrow struck the 
Bible, rccoilinj;, of course, upon themselves. My turn will 
come, for I think I shall hardly escape a threshing. 
Yours, my dear sir, 

And Mrs. Newton's, 

W. C. 



TO IIIE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 22, 17Sl- 

Mr. Bates, without intending it, has passed a severer 
censure upon the modern world of readers, than any that cart 
be found in my volume. If they are so merrily disposed, ia 
the midst of a thousand calamities, that they will not deign to 
read a preface of three or four pages, because the purport of it 
is serious, they are far gone indeed, and in the last stage of a 
frenzy, such as I suppose has prevailed in all nations that have 
been exemplarily punished, just before the infliction of the sen- 
tence. But though he lives in the world he has so ill an opinion 
of, and ought therefore to know it better than I, who have no 
intercourse with it at all, I am willing to hope that he may be 
mistaken. Curiosity is an universal passion. There are few 
people who think a book worth their reading, but feel a desire 
to know something about the writer of it. This desire will 
naturally lead them to peep into the preface, where they will 
soon find that a little perseverance will furnish them with some 
information on the subject. If, therefore, your preface finds no 
readers, I shall take it for granted that it is because the book 
itself is accounted not worth their notice. Be that as it may,, 
it is quite sufficient that I have played the antic myself for their 
divei-sion ; and that, in a state of dejection such as they are abso-- 



WILLIAM COWPER. 1Q7 

lute stranji;ers to, I have sometimes put on an air of cheerfulness 
and vivacity, to which I myself am in reality a strano;er, for the 
sake of win nine; their attention to more useful matter. I cannot 
endure the thought for a moment, that you should descend to 
my level on the occasion, and court their favour in a style not 
more unsuitable to your function, than to the constant and con- 
sistent strain of your whole character and conduct. No — let 
the preface stand. I cannot mend it. I could easily make a 
jest of it, but it is better as it is. 

By the way — will it not be proper, as you have taken some 
notice of the modish dress I wear in Tablc-Talk, to include 
Conversation in the same description, which is (the first half of 
it, at least,) the most airy of the two ? They will otherwise 
think, perhaps, that the observation might as well have been 
spared entirely ; though I should have been sorry if it had, for 
when I am jocular I do violence to myself, and am therefore 
pleased with your telling them, in a civil way, that I play the 
fool to amuse them, not because I am one myself, but because I 
have a foolish world to deal with. 

I am inclined to think that Mr. Scott will no more be trou- 
bled by Mr. R , with applications of the sort I mentioned 

in my last. Mr. Scott, since I wrote that account, has related 
to us, himself, what passed in the course of their interview ; 
and, it seems, the discourse ended with his positive assurance, 
that he never would consent to the measure, though, at the same 
time, he declared he would never interrupt or attempt to suppress 

it. To which Mr. R replied, that unless he had his free 

consent, he should never engage in the office. It is to be hoped, 
therefore, that, in time, that part of the people, who may at pre- 
sent be displeased with Mr. Scott, for withholding his consent, 
will grow cool upon the subject, and be satisfied with receiving 
their instruction from their proper minister. 



lOS CORRESPONDENCE OF 

I beg you will, on no future occasion, leave a blank for Mrs. 
Ne^vton, unless you have first engaged her promise to fill it; for 
thus we lose the pleasure of your company, without being; in- 
demnified for the loss, by the acquisition of liers. Our love to 
you both. 

Yours, n)y dear friend, 

w. r. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 7, 1781. 

Having discontinued the practice of verse-making for 
some weeks, I now feel quite incapable of resuming it; and can 
only wonder at it, as one of the most extraordinary incidents in 
my life, that I should have composed a volume. Had it been 
suggested to me as a practicable thing, in better days, though I 
should have been glad to have found it so, many hindrances 
would have conspired to withhold me from such an enterprise. 
I should not have dared, at tliat time of day, to have committed 
my name to the public, and my reputation to the hazard of their 
opinion. But it is otherwise with mc now. I am more indif- 
ferent about what may touch me in that point, than ever I was 
in my life. The stake that would then have seemed important, 
now seems trivial ; and it is of little consequence to me, who no 
longer feel myself possessed of what I accounted infinitely more 
valuable, whether the world's verdict shall pronounce me a poet, 
or an empty pretender to the title. This happy coldness towards 
a matter so generally interesting to all rhymers, left me quite at 
liberty for the undertaking, unfettered by fear, and under no 
restraints of that diffidence, which is my natural temper, and 
which would either have made it impossible for me to commence 



WILLIAM COWPER. 109 

an author by name, or would have insured my miscarriage if I 
had. In my last dispatches to Johnson I sent him a new edition 
of the title-page, having discarded the Latin paradox which stood 
at the head of the former, and added a French motto to that from 
Virgil. It is taken from a volume of tlie excellent Caraccioli, 
called Joussance de soi-meme, and strikes me as peculiarly ap- 
posite to the purpose. 

Mr. Bull is an honest man. We have seen him twice since 
he received your orders to marcli hither, and faithfully told us 
it was in consequence of those orders that he came. He dined 
with us 3'esterday ; we were all in pretty good spirits, and the 
day passed very agreeably. It is not long since he called on 

Mr. Scott. Mr. R came in. Mr. Bull began, addressing 

himself to the former, My friend, you are in trouble ; you 
are unhappy ; I read it in your countenance. Mr. Scott repli- 
ed, he had been so, but he was better. Come then, says Mr. 
Bull, I will expound to you the cause of all your anxiety. You 
are too common ; you make yourself cheap. Visit your peo- 
ple less, and converse more with your own heart. How often 
do you speak to them in the week ? — Thrice — Ay, there it is. 
Your sermons are an old ballad ; your prayers are an old bal- 
lad ; and you are an old ballad too. — I would wish to tread in 
the steps of Mr. Newton. — You do well to follow his steps, in 
all other instances, but in this instance you are wrong, and so 
was he. Mr. Newton trod a path which no man but himself 
could have used, so long as he did, and he wore it out long 
before he went from Olney. Too much familiarity and conde- 
scension cost him the estimation of his people. He thought he 
should insure their love, to which he had the best possible title, 
and by those very means he lost it. Be wise, my friend ; take 
warning ; make yourself scarce, if you wish that persons of 
little understanding should know how to prize you. 



!!• i;o«RF.sroNDENCE OF 

Wlicn lie related to us this harangue, so nicely adjustcil to the 
case ol' the third person pivsent. it did us both pjood, and as 
.lacqui's says. 

"It m;ulo my l»in{^ to crow like cliantaclcer." 

Our love of you both, thou2;h often sent to London, is still 
with us. If it is not an inexhaustible well (there is hut one love 
Uiat can, with propriety, be called so.) it is, however, a verr 
deep one, and not likely to llxil while we are livinc;. 
Yours., my dear Sir, 

W. C. 



TO THE llEV. WILLIAM UNWIN. 

M\ PKAK FRIKNO, Nov. C4, 1781. 

JNews is always acceptable, especially from another 
world. I cannot tell you what has been done in the Chesa- 
peake, but 1 can tell you what has passed in West Wycombe, 
in this county. Doj'ou feel yourself disposed to j;ive credit to 
the story of an apjwrition? No, say you. I am of your mind. 
1 do not believe more than one in a hundrtnl of those t.ales with 
which old women lVii;hten childixMi, and teach children to 
frighten each other. Hut you aiv not such a philosopher, I 
sup|x>se, as to have j>ersuaded yourself that an apparition is an 
impossible thing. You can attend to a story of that sort, if 
well authenticated? Yes. Then I can tell you one. 

You have heanl, no doubt, of the ramantic friendship that 
subsisted once between Paul Whitehead, and Lord le Despen- 
ser, the late Sir Francis Dashwood. — When Paul dieil, he left 
his lordship a leg;xcy. It was his heart, which was taken out 
of his body, and sent as directed. His friend having built a 
«^hurch. and. at that time just Anished it, uscJ it as a mauso- 



WILLIAM COWPKK, Hj 

leum upon this occasion ; and having (as I think the newspa- 
pers told lis at the time) erected an elegant pillar in the centre 
of it, on the summit of this pillar, enclosed in a golden in-n, 
he placed the heart in question. But not as a lady places a 
china (igure u[)on her mantle-tree, or on the top of her cabinet, 
but with much respectful ceremony, and all the forms of fune- 
ral solemnity. He hired the best singers and the best perform- 
ers. He composed an anthem for the purpose, he invited all 
the nobility and gentry in the country to assist at the celebra- 
tion of these obsequies, and having formed them all into an 
august procession, marched to the place appointed at their head, 
and consigned the posthumous treasure, with his own hands, 
to its state of honourable elevation. Having thus, as he thought, 
and as he miglit well think, (* * * * *) appeased the 
manes of the deceased, he rested satisfied with what he had 
done, and supposed his friend would rest. But not so, — about 
a week since I received a letter from a person, wlio cannot 
have been misinformed, telling me that Paul has appeared fi-e- 
quently of late, and that there are few, if any, of his lord- 
ship's numerous household, who liavc not seen him, sometimes 
in the park, sometimes in the garden, as well as in the house, by 
day and by night, indifl'orently. I make no reflection upon this in- 
cident, having other things to write about, and but little room, 

I am much indebted to Mr. S for more franks, and still 

more obliged by the handsome note with which he accompa- 
nied them. He has furnished me sufficiently for the present 
occasion, and by his readiness, and obliging manner of doing 
it, encouraged me to have recourse to him, in case another exi- 
gence of the same kind should otTer. A French author I was 
reading last night, says, He that has written, will write again. 
If the critics do not set their foot upon this first egg that I have 
laid, and crush it, I shall probably verify his observation ; anel 



1X9 COKRESPOXTIENCE OF 

when I fool my spirits rise, and that I am armed with iiulitstr^' 
suflioient for the purpose, undertake the production of another 
vohune. At present, however, I do not leel myself so dis 
poseil ; and, indeed, he thvit would write, should ix^ad, not 
thm he mav retail the ohservations of other men, but tliat, be 
insc thus i-elreshcd nnd i^eplcnished, he may find himself in a 
eoudition to make and to produce his own. I reckon it amons; 
my principal advanta2;es, as a composer of versos, that 1 havo 
not read an Knu;lish poet these liiirtecn yeai"?, and but one these 
twenty yeai-s. Imitation, even of the best models, is my aver- 
sion; it is servile and mechanical, a trick that has enabled 
many to usurp the name of author, who could not have writ- 
ten at all, if thev had not written upon the pattern of some- 
bodv indeed original. Rut when the ear and the taste have 
been much accustomed to the manner of others, it is almost 
impossible to avoid it ; and we imitate in spite of oui'sclves, 
just in proportion as weadmiiT. Ikit enough of this. 

Your mother, who is as well as the season of the year will 
permit, desires me to add her love. — ^l""he salmon you sent u> 
arriveil safe, and was remarkably fresh. What a comfort it is 
to have a friend who knows that we love salmon, and who 
cannot pass by a fishmonijer's shop, without finding his desii"c 
(o send us some, a teiuptation too strons: to be ivsistedl 
Yours, my dear friend. 



ro .10SF.PH mil., ESQ. 

MV PEAK FKlENn. Nov. 0^ irSI. 

I thank you much for your lettcj-, which, without oblig- 
ing me to travel to Wargrave at a time of year when journey- 



WILLIAM COWPEK. HH 

Mie; is nol very ap;rccuhlc, h:is introduccil mc, in the most com- 
modious manner, to a perfect acquaintance with your neat little 
garden, your old cottage, and, above all, your most prudent 
and sagacious landlady. As much as I admire her, I admire 
much more tliat philosophical temper with which you seem to 
treat her ; for I know few characters more provoking, to me at 
least, than the selfish, who are never honest, especially if, 
while they dctLMinine to pick your pocket, they have not inge- 
nuity enough to conceal their purpose. But you are perfectly 
in the right, and act just as I wouUl endeavour to do, on the 
same occasion. You sacrifice every thing to a retreat you ad- 
mire, and if the natural indolence of my disposition did not 
forsake me, so would 1. 

You miglU as well apologize for sending me forty pounds, as 
for writing about yourself. Of the two ingredients, I hardly 
know which made your letter the most agreeable (observe, I 
do not say the most acceptable.) The draft, indeed, was wel- 
come ; but, though it was so, yet it did not make me laugh. 1 
laughed heartily at the account you give me of yourself, and 
your landlady, Dame Saveall, whose picture you have drawn, 
though not with a (lattering hand, yet, I dare say, with a strong 
resemblance. As to you, 1 have never seen so much of you 
since I saw you in London, where you and I have so often 
made ourselves merry with each other's humour, yet never 
gave each otiier a moment's pain by doing so. We are both 
humourists, and it is well for your wife, and my Mrs. Unvvin, 
that they have alike found out the way to ileal with us. 

More thanks to Mrs. Hill for her intentions. She has the 
true enthusiasm of a gardener, and I can pity her under her dis- 
appointment, having so large a share of that commodity myself. 
Yours, my dear Sir, atlectionately, 

W. C. 



114 CORRESPONUKNCK OF 



lO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 27, 1782. 

First Mr. Wilson, then Mr. Teedon, and lastly Mr 
Whitford, each with a cloiui of melancholy on his hrow, and 
with a mouth wide open, have just announced to us this unwel- 
come intelligence iVom America. We are sorry to hear it, and 
.should be more cast down than we are, if we did not know that 
this catastrophe was ordained beforehand, and that therefore 
neither conduct, nor courage, nor any means that can possibly 
be mentioned, could have prevented it. If the king and hi? 
ministry can be contented to close the business here, and, tak- 
ing poor Dean Tucker's advice, resign the Americans into the 
hands of their new masters, it may be well for Old England. 
But if they will still persevere, they will find it, I doubt, an 
hopeless contest to the last. Domestic murmurs will grow louder, 
and the hands of faction, being strengthened by this late mis- 
carriage, will find it easy to set fire to the pile of combustibles 
they have been so long employed in building. These are my 
politics, and for aught I can see, you and we by our respective 
fire-sides, though neither connected with men in power, nor 
professing to possess any share of that sagacity which thinks 
itself qualified to wield the aflairs of kingdoms, can make as pro- 
bable conjectures, and look forward into futurity with as clear 
a sia;ht, as the 2:reatest man in the cabinet. 

Though when I wrote the passage in question, I was not at 
all aware of any impropriety in it, and although I have fre- 
quently since that time, both i-ead and recollected it with the 
same approbation, I lately became uneasy upon the subject, and 
had no rest in my mind for three days, till I resolved to submit 
it to a trial at your tribunal, and to dispose of it ultimately ac- 



WILLIAM COWPER. II5 

cording to your sentence. I am glad you have condemned it, 
and though I do not feel as if I could presently supply its place, 
shall be willing to attempt the task, whatever labour it may cost 
me, and rejoice that it will not be in the power of the critics, what- 
ever else they may charge me with, to accuse me of bigotry, 
or a design to make a certain denomination of Christians odious, 
at the hazard of the public peace. I had rather my book were 
burnt, than a single line guilty of such a tendency should escape 
nie. 

We thank you for two copies of your Address to your Pa- 
rishioners. The first I lent to Mr. Scott, whom I have not 
seen since I put it into his hands. You have managed your 
subject well ; have applied yourself to despisers and absentees 
of every description, in terms so expressive of the interest you 
take in their welfare, that the most wrong-headed person can- 
not be offended. We both wish it may have the effect you in- 
tend, and that prejudices and groundless apprehensions being 
removed, the immediate objects of your ministry may make a 
more considerable part of your congregation. 

Yours, my dear Sir, as ever, 

W. C 



rO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

[Fragment] 
MY DEAR FRIEND, Same date. 

A visit from Mr. Whitford shortened one of your let- 
ters to me ; and now the same cause has operated with the 
same effect upon one of mine to you. He is just gone ; desir- 
ed me to send his love, and talks of enclosing a letter to you in 
my next cover. 



116 l^ORRESPONDENCE OF 

Literas tuas irato Sacertloti scriptas, legi, perlegi, ct nt ver- 
bum quiilem mutaiidum cciiseo. Gratias tibi acturiim si sapiat, 
existimo; sin alitcr cvcniat, amici tamen otlicium pi-Kstitisti, el 
te coram te vindicasti. 

I have not written in Latin to show my scholarship, nor to 
excite Mi*s. Newton's curiosity, nor lor any other wise reason 
whatever ; but merely because, just at that moment, it came 
into my head to do so. 

I never wrote a copy of Mary and John* in my life, except 
that which I sent to you. It was one of those baa:atelles which 
sometimes spring up like mushrooms in my imagination, either 
while 1 am writing, or just before 1 begin. I sent it to you, be- 
cause to you I send any thing that I tliink may raise a smile; 
but should never have thought of multiplying the impression. 
Neither did I ever repeat them to any one except Mrs. Unwin. 
The inference is fair and easy, that you have some friend who 
has a good memory. 

This afternoon the maid opened the parlour-door, and told us 
there was a lady in the kitchen. We desired she might be in- 
troducetl, and prepared for the reception of Mrs. Jones. But it 
proved to be a lady unknown to us. and not Mrs. Jones. She 
walked directly up to Mi^. Unwin. and never drew back till 
their noses were almost in contact. It seemed as if she meant 
to salute her. An uncommon degree of familiarity, accompa- 

.A\>fe by the Editor. 

•The lines alluded to are the following, which appeared afterwards 
somewhat varied, in the Eieg-ani Ertractt in Verte .• — 

If John marries Mary, and Mary alone, 

*Tis a ven- jr^wil match betw een Mary and John. 

Should John wed a score, oh ! the cl.<»\vs and the scr:»trhe« ' 

It can't be a match: — tis a bundle of matches. 



WILLIAM COWPER. II7 

nied with an air of most extraordinary gravity, made me think 
her a Httle crazy. I was alarmed, and so was Mrs. Unwin. She 
had a bundle in her hand — a silk handkerchief tied up at the 
four corners. When I found she was not mad, I took her for 
a smuggler, and made no doubt but she had brought samples of 
contraband goods. But our surprise, considering the lady's ap- 
pearance and deportment, was tenfold what it had been, when 
we found that it was Mary Philips's daughter, who had brought 
us a few apples by way of a specimen of a quantity she had for 
sale. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Dec. 2, 178L 

I thank you for the note. There is some advantage in 
having a tenant who is irregular in his payments : the longer the 
rent is withheld, the more considerable the sum when it arrives ; 
to which we may add, that its arrival being unexpected, a cir- 
cumstance that obtains always in a degree exactly in proportion 
to the badness of the tenant, is always sure to be the occasion 
of an agreeable surprise ; a sensation that deserves to be ranked 
among the pleasantest that belong to us. 

I gave two hundred and fifty pounds for the chambers. Mr. 
Ashurst's receipt, and the receipt of the person of whom he 
purchased, are both among my papers; and when wanted, as I 
suppose they will be in case of a sale, shall be forthcoming at 
your order. 

The conquest of America seems to go on but slowly. Our 
ill success in that quarter will oblige me to suppress two pieces 
that I was rather proud of. They were written two or three 
years ago ; not long after the double repulse sustained by Mr 



U3 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

D'Estaing at Lucia and at Savannah, and when our operations 
in the western world wore a more promising aspect. Presum- 
ing, upon such promises, that I might venture to prophesy an 
illustrious consummation of the war, I did so. But my pre- 
dictions proving false, the verse in which they were expressed 
must perish with them. 

Since I began to write. I have searched all the papers I have, 
and cannot find the I'eceipts above-mentioned. I hope, however, 
they are not essential to the validity of the transaction. 

Yours, my dear Sir, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MV DEAR FRIEND, Dec. 4, 1781. 

The present to the queen of France, and the piece ad- 
dressed to Sir Joshua Reynolds, my only two political efforts, 
being of the predictive kind, and both falsified, or likely to be 
so, by the miscarriage of the royal cause in America, were 
already condemned when 1 received your last.* I have a poeti- 

• As the reader may yet wisli to see the lines to Sir Joshua, the Editor 
extracts tliem from a letter to the Rev. William Unwin, of an earlier date. 
Those to the Queen of France are not in his possession. 

TO SIR JOSHUA BKTNOLDS. 

Dear President, whose art sublime 
Gives perpetuity to time. 
And bids transactions of a day, 
That fleeting hours uould waft away 
To dark futurity, survive, 
And in unfading beauty live, — 
Vou cannot with a grace decline 
A special mandate of the Nine— 



WILLIAM COWPER. 119 

cal epistle which I wrote last summer, and another poem not 
yet finished, in stanzas, with which I mean to supply their 
places. Henceforth I have done with politics. The stage of 
national affairs is such a fluctuating scene, that an event which 
appears probable to-day becomes impossible to-morrow ; and 
unless a man were indeed a prophet, he cannot, but with the 
greatest hazard of losing his labour, bestow his rhymes upon 
future contingencies, which perhaps are never to take place but 
in his own wishes and in the reveries of his own fancy. I 
learned when I was a boy, being the son of a staunch Whig, 

Yourself, whatever task you choose, 
So much indebted to the Muse. 

Thus say the Sisterhood : — We come — 
Fix well your pallet on your thumb, 
Prepare the pencil and the tints — 
We come to furnish you with hints. 
French disappointment, British glory, 
Must be the subject of the story. 

First strike a curve, a graceful bow. 
Then slope it to a point below; 
Your outline easy, airy, light, 
Fill'd up becomes a paper kite. 
Let independence, sanguine, horrid. 
Blaze like a meteor in the forehead : 
Beneath (but lay aside your graces) 
Draw six-and-twenty rueful faces, 
Each with a staring, stedfast eye, 
Fix'd on his great and good ally. 
France flies the kite — 'tis on the wing- 
Britannia's lightning cuts the string. 
The wind that rais'd it, ere it ceases, 
Just rends it into thirteen pieces, 
Takes charge of every fluttering sheet, 
A.nd lays them all at George's feet. 



120 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

and a man that loved his country, to glow with that patriotic 
enthusiasm which is apt to hreak forth into poetry, or at least 
to prompt a person, it' he has any incHnation that way, to poeti- 
cal endeavours. Prior's pieces of that sort were recommended 
to my particular notice ; and as that part of the present centu- 
ry was a season when clubs of a political character, and conse- 
quently political songs, were much in fashion, the best in that 
style, some written by Rowe, and I think some by Congreve, 
and many by other wits of the day, were proposed to my ad- 
miration. Being grown up, 1 became desirous of imitating such 
bright examples, and while I lived in the Temple produced se- 
veral halfpenny ballads, two or three of which had the honour 
to be popular. What we learn in childhood we retain long; 
and the successes we met with, about three years ago, when 
D'Estaing was twice repulsed, once in America, and once in the 
West Indies, having set fire to my patriotic zeal once more, it 
discovered itself by the same symptoms, and produced effects 
much like those it had produced before. But, unhappily, the 
ardour I felt upon the occasion, disdaining to be confined with- 
in the bounds of fact, pushed me upon uniting the prophetical 
with the poetical character, and defeated its own purpose. — I 
am glad it did. The less there is of that sort in my book the 
better ; it will be more consonant to your character, who patro- 

Iberia, trcmblingf from afar. 
Renounces t)>e confVd'rale war. 
Her efl'orts and her arts o'ercome, 
France calls her shattered navies home : 
Repenting- Holland learns to mourn 
The sacred treaties ahe has torn; 
Astonishment and awe profound 
Are stamp'd upon the nations round ; 
Without one friend, above all foes, 
Britannia gives tlie world repose. 



WILLIAM COWPER. Igj 

nise the volume, and, indeed, to the constant tenor of my own 
thoughts upon public matters, that I should exhort my country 
men to repentance, than that I should flatter their pride — that 
vice for which, perhaps, they are even now so severely punished 

We are glad, for Mr. Barham's sake, that he has been so hap- 
pily disappointed. How little does the world suspect what 
passes in it every day ! — that true religion is working the same 
wonders now as in the first ages of the church, — that parents 
surrender up their children into the hands of God, to die at his 
own appointed moment, and by what death he pleases, without 
a murmur, and receive them again as if by a resurrection from 
the dead ! The world, however, would be more justly charge- 
able with wilful blindness than it is, if all professors of the truth 
exemplified its power in their conduct as conspicuously as Mr. 
Barham. 

Easterly winds, and a state of confinement within our own 
walls, suit neither me nor Mrs. Unwin ; though we are both, to 
use the Irish term, rather unwell than ill. 

Yours, my dear friend, 

W. C. 

Mrs. Madan is happy. — She will be found ripe, fall when she 

may. 

We are sorry you speak doubtfully about a spring visit to 
Olney. Those doubts must not outlive the winter. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEIND, Dec. 17, 1781. 

The poem I had in hand when I ^vrote last is on the 
subject of Friendship. By the following post I received a packet 



l-Ji> C01lRKSPONI)ENt;K OF 

iVom ,loI)n^>Mi. Tlie prool'shoot it coiitaineil l)io\ii;,lil our busi 
ness iluw a lo the lallt-r [.art ol' Ifcioctnaii ; the ucxt will con- 
SL'ijucnlly introduce the lirst ol'the smaller pieces. 'I'he volume 
coiisistini:;, al least four-lillhs ol" il, ol" heroic verse as it is called, 
ami i;!ave matter, I was desirous to displace the Burning ISIouu- 
tain* from the j)0st it held in the van of the light infantry, and 
throw it into the rear. Having tinished Friendship, and fear- 
ing that if I delayed to send il, the press would gel the start of 
my intention, and knowing perfectly that with res|XJct lo the 
subject, and the subject matter of it, il contained nothing that 
you would think exceptionable, 1 look the liberty to transmit it 
to Johnson, and hope that the next post will return it lo me 
printed. It consists of between thirty and forty stanzas ; a length 
that qualifies it to supply the place of the two cancelled pieces, 
Avithout the aid of the'Kpislle I mentioned. According to the 
ju'esent arrangement, therefore, Friendship, which is rather of 
a lively cast, though quite sober, will follow next after lictirc- 
mcntf and ^(Elna will close tlie volume. Modern naturalists, I 
think, tell us that the volcano forms the mountain. 1 shall be 
charged therefore, perluips, with anuni)hilosophical error in sup- 
posing that ^Ktna was once unconscious of intestine fires, and 
as lofty as at present before the commencement of the eruptions. 
It is possible, however, that the rule, though just in some in- 
stances, may not be of universal ai)|)lication ; and if it be, 1 do 
not know that a poet is obliged to write with a philosopher at 
his elbow, prepared always to bend down his imagination to 
mere matters of fact. \o\\ will oblige me by your opinion ; and 
tell me, if you please, whether you think an apologetical note 
may be necessary ; for I would not appear a dunce in mattejs 

* The poem afterwards entitled *' Heroism." 

Vide Poems, vol. 1. 



WILTJAM COWPKU. 123 

thai every Review reader iiiust necils be apprized of. 1 say a 
note, because an alteration of tbe piece is impracticable; at least 
vvitboiit cnttiiia; ofl' its brad, and scttinc; on a new one; a task I 
sbonld not readily undertake, because Ibe lines wbicb must, in 
tbat case, be thrown oul, are some of the most poetical in thft 
performance. 

Possessing greater advantages, and being equally dissolute 
xvith the most abandoned of the neighbouring nations, we avc 
certainly more Criminal than they. They cannot sec, and we 
?/'/// not. It is to be expected, therefore, that wiien judgmcnl in 
walking through the earth, it will come commissioned with the 
heaviest tidings to the people chargeable with the most perversc- 
ness. In the latter pait of the Duke of Newcastle's administra- 
tion, all faces gathered blackness. The people, as they walked 
the streets, had, every one of them, a countenance like what wc 
may suppose to have been the prophet Jonah's, when he cried 
"Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be destroyed." But our 
Nineveh toorejicnted, that is to say, she was affected in a manner 
somewhat suitable to her condition. She was dejected ; she 
learnetl an hundjlcr language, and seemed, if she did not trust 
in God, at least to have renounced her confidence in herself. A 
respite ensued ; the expected ruin was averted ; and her pros- 
perity became greater than ever. Again she became self-con- 
ceited and proud, as at the first; and how stands it with her 
Nineveh now ? Even as you say; her distress is infinite, her 
destruction appears inevitable, and her heart as hard as the 
nether millstone. Thus, I suppose, it was when ancient Nineveh 
found herself agreeably disappointed; she turned the grace ol 
God into lasciviousness, and that flagrant abuse of mercy expos- 
eil her, at the expiration of forty years, to tiie complete^ execu- 
tion of a sentence she had only been threatened with before. A 
similarity of events, accompanied by a strong similarity of con 



124 CORRBSPONDEN'CE OF 

duct, seems to justify our cxjiectations that the catastrophe will 
not be very different. But after all, the designs of Providence 
are inscrutable, and, as in the case of individuals, so in that of 
nations, the same causes do not always produce the same effects. 
The country indeed cannot be saved in its present state of profli- 
gacy and profaneness, but may, nevertheless, be led to repent- 
ance by means we are little aware of, and at a time when wc 
least expect it. 

Our best love attends yourself and Mrs. Newton, and we re- 
joice that you feel no burthens but those you bear in common 
witli the liveliest and most favoured Christians. — It is a happi- 
ness in poor Pef;2;y's case that she can swallow five shillings' 
worth of physic in a day, but a person must be in her case to 
be duly sensible of it. 

Yours, my dear Sir, 

W. C 



TO THE UEV. WILLIAM UNWIN. 

MV UEAU WILLIAM, 

I dare say I do not enter exactly into your idea of a present 
theocracy, because mine amounts to no more than the common 
one, tliat all mankind, though a few are really aware of it, act 
under a providential direction, and that a gracious superintend- 
ence in particular, is the lot of those who trust in God. Thus 
I think respecting individuals, and with respect to the kingdoms 
of the earth, that perhaps by his own immediate operation, 
though more probably by the intervention of angels, (vide 
Daniel) the great Governor manages and rules them, assigns 
them their origin, duration, and end, appoints them prospciity 
(n- adversity, glory or disgrace, as their virtues or their vices. 



WILLIAM COWPEIJ. 125 

their regard to the dictates of conscience and his word, or their 
prevailing neglect of both, may indicate and require. But in 
this persuasion, as I said, I do not at all deviate from the gene- 
ral opinion of those who believe a Providence, at least who 
have a scriptural belief of it. I suppose, therefore, you menn 
something more, and shall be glad to be more particularly in- 
formed. 

I see but one feature in the face of our national concerns that 
pleases ine ; — the war with America, it seems, is to be con- 
ducted on a different plan. This is something; when a long 
series of measures, of a certain description, has proved un- 
successful, the adoption of others is at least pleasing, as it en- 
courages a hope that they may possibly prove wiser, and more 
effectual : but, indeed, without discipline, all is lost. Pitt 
himself could have done nothing with such tools ; but he would 
not have been so betrayed ; he would have made the traitors 
answer with their heads, for their cowardice or supineness, and 
their punishment would have made survivors active. 

w. r. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FUIEND, The shortest day, 1781. 

I might easily make this letter a continuation of my las(, 
another national miscarriage having furnished me with a fresh 
illustration of the remarks we have both been making. Mr. 

S , who has most obligingly supplied me with franks 

throughout my whole concern with Johnson, accompanied the 
last parcel he sent me with a note dated from the House of 
Commons, in which he seemed happy to give me the earliest 
intelligence of the capture of the French transports by Admi- 



126 CORRESPONDENCE 01 

ral Kempcnfelt, and of a close engagement between the t\v( 
fleets, so much to be expected. This note was written on Mon 
day, and reached nic by Wechiesday *s post ; hut, alas ! the same 
post brought us the newspaper that informed us of his being 
forced to fly befoie a much superior enemy, and glad to take 
shelter in the port he had left so lately. This event, I sup|x>so, 
will have worse consequences than the mere disappointment ; 
will furnish opposition, as all our ill success has done, with the 
fuel of dissention, and wiih the uK'nns of thwarting and per- 
plexing administration. Thus all we purchase with the many 
millions expended yearly, is distress to ourselves, instead of 
our enemies, and domestic quarrels, instead of victories abroad. 
It takes a great many blows to knock down a great nation ; and, 
in the case of poor England, a great many heavy ones have 
not been wanti'ng. They make us reel and stagger, indeed, hut 
the blow is not yet struck that is to make us iall upon our 
knees. That fall would save us; but if we fall upon our side 
at last, we are undone. So much for politics. 

I enclose a few lines on a thought which struck me yester- 
day.* If you approve of them, you know what to do with 
them. I should think they might occupy the place of an in- 
troduction, and should call them by that name, if I did not 
judge the name 1 have given them necessary for the informa- 
tion of the reader. A flatting-mill is not met witli in every 
street, antl my book will, perhaps, fall into the hands of many 
who do not know that such a mill was ever invented. It hap- 
pened to me, however, to spend much of my time in one. 
when I was a boy, when 1 frequently amused myself with 
watching the operation I describe. 

Yours, my dear Sir, 

W. ( . 

• The lines atludcil to arc entitled, " Thu Flatting Mill, au IHuUvatinn ' 
Viilc rocms, vol. HI » 



WILLIAM COWPEU. 107 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAU FUIEND, The last day of 1781. 

Yesterday's post, which brought me yours, brought me 
a packet from Johnson. We have reached the middle of the 
Mahometan Hog. By the way, your lines, which, when we 
had the pleasure of seeing you here, you said you would fur- 
nish him with, are not inserted in it. I did not recollect, till 
after I iiad finished the Flatting Mill, that it bore any affinity 
to the motto taken from Caraccioli. The resemblance, how- 
ever, did not appear to me to give any impropriety to the 
verses, as the thought is much enlarged upon, and enlivened 
by the addition of a new comparison. But if it is not wanted, 
it is superfluous, and if superfluous, better omitted. — I shall not 
humble Johnson for finding foult with Friendship, though I 
have a better opinion of it myself; but a poet is, of all men, 
the most unfit to be judge in his own cause. Partial to all his 
productions, he is always most partial to the youngest. But 
as there is a sufficient quantity without it, let that sleep too. If 
I should live to write again, I may possibly take up that sub- 
ject a second time, and clothe it in a different dress. It abounds 
with excellent matter, and much more than I could find room 
for, in two or three pages. 

I consider England and America as once one country. They 
were so, in respect of interest, intercourse, and affinity. A great 
earthquake has made a partition, and now the Atlantic ocean 
flows between them. He that can drain that ocean, and shove 
the two shores together, so as to make them aptly coincide, and 
meet each other in every part, can unite them again. But this 
is a work for Omnipotence, and nothing less than Omnipotence 
can heal the breach between us. This dispensation is evidently 



128 CORRESPONDENCE 01 

a scourge to England ; but is it a blessing to America ? Time 
tnay prove it one, but at present it does not seem to wear an 
aspect favourable to their privileges, either civil, or religious. I 
cannot doubt tiie truth of Dr. W.'s assertion ; but the French, 
who pay but little regard to treaties that clash with their conve- 
nience, without a treaty, and even in direct contradiction to ver- 
bal engagements, can easily pretend a claim to a country which 
they have both bled and paid for; and if the validity of that claim 
be disputed, behold an army ready landed, and well-appointed, 
and in possession of some of the most fruitful provinces, pre- 
pared to prove it. A scourge is a scourge at one end only. A 
bundle of thunderbolts, such as you have seen in the talons of 
Jupiters's eagle, is at both ends equally tremendous, and can 
inflict a judgment upon the West, at the same moment that it 
seems to intend only the chastisement of the East. 

Yours, my dear sir, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Jan. 15, 1782. 

I believe I did not thank you for your anecdotes, either 
foreign or domestic, in my last, therefore I do it now ; and still 
feel myself, as I did at the time, truly obliged to you for them. 
More is to be learned from one matter of fact, than from a thou- 
sand speculations. But, alas ! what course can government take ? 
I have heard (for I never made the experiment) that if a man 
«*^rasp a red-hot iron with his naked hand, it will stick to him, 
so that he cannot presently disengage himself from it. Such are 
the colonies in the hands of administration. While they hold 
them they burn their fingers, and yet they must not quit them. 



WILLIAM COWPER, 129 

I know not whether your sentiments and mine upon this part 
of the subject exactly coincide, but you will know, when you 
understand what mine are. It appears to me that the King is 
bound, both by the duty he owes to himself and to his people, 
to consider himself with respect to every inch of his territories, 
as a trustee deriving his interest in them from God, and invest- 
ed with them by divine authority for the benefit of his subjects. 
As he may not sell them or waste them, so he may not resign 
them to an enemy, or transfer his right to govern them to any, 
not even to themselves, so long as it is possible for him to keep 
it. If he does, he betrays at once his own interest, and that of 
his other dominions. It may be said, suppose Providence has 
ordained that they shall be wrested from him, how then ? I 
answer, that cannot appear to be the case, till God's purpose is 
actually accomplished ; and in the mean time the most probable 
prospect of such an event does not release him from his obliga- 
tion to hold them to the last moment, for as much as adverse 
appearances are no infallible indication of God's designs, but 
may give place to more comfortable symptoms, when we least 
expect it. Viewing the thing in this light, if I sat on his Ma- 
jesty's throne, I should be as obstinate as he, because if I quitted 
the contest, while I had any means left of carrying it on, I 
should never knovv that I had not relinquished vvhat I might 
have retained, or be able to render a satisfactory answer to the 
doubts and inquiries of my own conscience. 

Yours, my dear Sir, 

W. C. 



130 tJOURESPONDENCE OI' 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 



MY DEAR FUIENI), Jan. 31, 1782. 

Having thanked you for a barrel of very fine oysters, J 
should have nothing more to say, if I did not determine to sa\ 
every thing that may happen to occur. The political world af- 
fords us no very agreeable subjects at present, nor am I suffi- 
ciently conversant with it, to do justice to so magnificent a theme, 
if it did. A man that lives as I do, whose chief occupation, at 
this season of the year, is to walk ten times in a day from the 
fire-side to his cucumber frame and back again, cannot shew his 
wisdom more, if he has an}- wisdom to shew, than by leaving 
the mysteries of government to the management of persons, in 
point of situation and information, much better qualified for the 
business. Suppose not, however, that I am perfectly an uncon- 
cerned spectator, or that I take no interest at all in the affairs 
of m)- country ; far from it — I read the news — I see that things 
go wrong in every quarter. I meet, now and then, with an ac- 
count of some disaster that seems to be the indisputable progeny 
of treachery, cowardice, or a spirit of faction ; I recollect that in 
those happier days, when you and I could spend our evening in 
enumerating victories and acquisition, that seemed to follow 
each other in a continued series, there was some pleasure in hear- 
ing a politician ; and a man might talk away upon so entertain- 
ing a subject, without danger of becoming tiresome to others, 
or incurring weariness himself When poor Bob White brought 
me the news of ]3oscawen's success off the coast of Portugal, 
how did I leap ibr joy ! When Ilawke demolished Conflans, I 
was still more transported. 13ut nothing could express my rap- 
ture, when Wolfe made the conquest of Quebec. I am not, 
therefore, I suppose, destitute of true patriotism, but the course 



WILLIAM COWPEU. Hi] 

of public events has, of late, afforded me no op])ortunity to ex- 
ert it. I cannot rejoice, because I see no reason, and I will not 
murmur, because for that I can find no j^ood one. And let me 
add, he that has seen both sides of fifty, has lived to little pur- 
pose, if he has not other views of the world than he had when 
he was much younger. He finds, if he reflects at all, that it 
will be to the end, what it has been from the beginning, a shift- 
ing, uncertain, fluctuating scene ; that nations, as well as indivi- 
duals, have their seasons of infancy, youth, and age. If he be 
an Englishman, he will observe that ours, in particular, is af- 
fected with every symptom of decay, and is already sunk into a 
state of decrepitude. I am reading Mrs. M'Aulay's History. 
I am not quite such a superannuated simpleton, as to suppose that 
mankind were wiser or much better, when I was young, than 
they are now. But I may venture to assert, without.exposing 
myself to the charge of dotage, that the men whose integrity, 
courage, and wisdom, broke Ihe bands of tyranny, established 
our constitution upon its true basis, and gave a people, over- 
whelmed with the scorn of all countries, an opportunity to 
emerge into a state of the higest respect and estimation, make a 
better figure in history than any of the present day are likely to 
do, when their pretty harangues are forgotten, and nothing shall 
survive but the remembrance of the views and motives with 
which they made them. 

My dear friend, I have written at random, in every sense, 
neither knowing what sentiments I should broach, when I be- 
gan, nor whether they would accord with yours. Excuse a rus- 
tic, if he errs on such a subject, and believe me sincerely yours, 

W. C. 



132 (JOHRESl'ONDKNCK Ol 



TO JOSKFH HILL, ES«. 



MY DEAU I'RIKNI), Maicl> U, 1782. 

As sci\ aiil-maids, and such sort of folks, account a lettei 
good for iiothiiii!;, unless it begins with — This conies hoping you 
arc well, as I am at this present : so I should he chargeable with 
a great omission, were I not to make frequent use of the follow- 
ing grateful exordium — Many thanks for a fine cod and oysters. 
Your hoiuily never arrived more seasonably, I had just been 
observing that among other (lei)lorable eflects of the war, the 
scarcity of fish which it occasioned, was severely felt at OIney ; 
butyour plentiful supply imniediately reconciled me, though not 
to the war, yv\ to my small share in the calamities it produces. 

I ]\o\t^. my bookseller has paid due attention to liu' order I 
gave him to finnish you with my books. 'J'iie composition of 
those pieces aflbnled me an agreeable amusement at intervals, 
for about a twelvemonth ; ami I should l)e glad to devote the 
leisure hours of anotiier twelvemonth to llif same occupation ; at 
least, if my lucubrations should meet with a favourable accept- 
ance. Hut I cannot wiite when I would ; and whether 1 shall 
find readers, is a problem not yet decided. So the Muse and I 
are parted for the present. 

I sent Lord 'i'hurlow a volume, and the following letter with 
it, which I comnunucate because you will undoubtedly have 
some curiosity to see it." 

Yours, 

W. ( 

• For the letter to Lord Tliiuiow, sec Cowpcr's Letters, vol. T. papc 19:. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 133 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAR FRIEND, March 14, 1782. 

1 was not acquainted with Mr. B — 's extraordinary case, 
before you favoured me with his iellcr and liis intended dedica- 
tion to the Queen, fhough 1 am obliged to you for a sight of 
those two curiosities, wluch I do not recollect to have ever seen 
till you sent them. I could, however, were it not a subject that 
would make us all melancholy, point out to you some essential 
diflerences between his stale of mind and my own, which would 
prove mine to be by far the most tieplorable of tlie two. I sup- 
pose no man would despair, if he did not apprehend something 
singular in the circumstances of his own story, something that 
discriminates it from that of every other man, and that induces 
despair as an inevitable consequence. You may encounter his 
unhappy pcrsuasum with as many instances as you please, of 
persons, who, like him, having renounced all hope, were yet 
restored ; and may thence infer that he, like them, shall meet 
with a season of restoration — but it is in vain. Every such in- 
dividual accountshimself an exception to all rules, and therefore 
the blessed reverse, that others have experienced, affords no 
ground of comfortable expectation to him. But you will say, 
it is reasonable to conclude that as all your predecessors in this 
vale of misery and horror have found themselves delightfully 
disappointed at last, so will you : — I grant the reasonableness of 
it ', it would be sinful, perhaps, because uncharitable, to reason 
otherwise; but an argument, hypothetical in its nature, however 
rationally conducted, may lead to a false conclusion ; and in this 
instance, so will yours. - But I forbear. For the cause above 
mentioned, I will say no more, though it is a subject on which 
I could write more than the mail would carry. I must deal 



134 COKKESFONDENCE OF 

with you as I deal witli poor Mrs. Unwin, in all our disputes 
about it, cutting all controversy short by an appeal to the event. 

W. C. 



rO IHE UEV. WILLIAM BULL. 

MY DEAU FRIEND, June 22, 1782. 

If reading verse be your delight, 
'Tis mine as much, or more, to write ; 
But what wc AvouUl, so weak is man, 
Lies oft remote from what we can. 
For instance, at this very time, 
I feel a wish, by cheerful rhyme 
To soothe my friend, and, had I power, 
I'o cheat him of an anxious hour ; 
Not meaning (for 1 must confess, 
It were but folly to suppress,) 
His pleasure, or his good alone. 
But squinting partly at my own. 
But though the sun is flaming high 
r th' centre of yon arch, the sky, 
And he had once (and who but he ?) 
The name for setting genius free, 
Yet whether poets of past days 
Yielded him uniieserved praise. 
And he by no uncommon lot 
Was famed for virtues he had not ; 
Or whether, which is like enough, 
His Highness may have taken hufl", 
So seldom sought with invocation, -, 

Since it has hten the reigning fashion s 

To disregard his inspiration, ' 



WILLIAM COWPER. 135 

I seem no brighter in my vyits, 
For all the radiance he emits, 
Than if I saw through midnight vapour, 
The glimm'ring of a farthing taper. 
Oh for a succedaneum, then, 
T' accelerate a creeping pen ! 
Oh for a ready succedaneum, 
Quod caput, cerebrum, et cranium 
Pondcrc liberet cxoso, 
Et morbo jam caliginoso ! 
'Tis here; this oval box well fiU'd 
With best tobacco, finely miU'd, 
Beats all Anticyra's pretences 
To disengage the encumber'd senses. 
Oh Nymph of Transatlantic fame. 
Where'er thine haunt, whate'er thy name, 
Whether reposing on the side 
Of Oroonoquo's spacious tide. 
Or list'ning with delight not small 

To Niagara's distant fall, 

'Tis thine to cherish and to feed 

The pungent nose-refreshing weed, 

Which, whether pulverized it gain 

A speedy passage to the brain, 

Or whether, touch'd with fire it rise 

In circling eddies to the skies. 

Does thought more quicken and refine 

Than all the breath of all the Nine- 
Forgive the Bard, if Bard he be, 

Who once too wantonly made free, 

To touch with a satiric wipe 

That symbol of thy power, the pipe ; 

So may no blight infest thy plains. 

And no unseasonable rains, 



ISff CORRESPONDKNCE OF 

And so may smiling Peace once more 

Visit America's sad shore ; 

And ihou, secure from all alarms, 

Of tluind'ring drums, and gliti'ring arms, 

Rove unconfined beneath the shade 

Thy wide expanded leaves have made ; 

So may thy votaries encrease, 

And fumigation never cease. 

May Newton with renewed delights 

Perform thine odorif *rous rites, 

While clouds of incense half divine 

Involve thy disappearing shrine ; 

And so may smoke-inhaling Bull 

Be always filling, never full. 



w. r. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAK FRIEND, Sept. 6, 1782. 

Yesterday, and not before, I received your letter, dated 
the 11th of June, from the hands of Mr. Small. I should have 
been happy to have known him sooner; but whether being 
afraid of that horned monster, a Methodist, or whether from a 
prhiciple of delicacy, or deterred by a flood, which has rolled 
for some weeks between Clifton and Olney, I know not, — he 
has favoured me only with a taste of his company, and will 
leave me, on Saturday cveninj;, to regret that our acquaintance, 
so lately begun, must be so soon suspended. He will dine with 
us that day, which I reckon a fortunate circumstance, as I shall 
have an opportunity to introduce him to the liveliest and most 
entertaining woman in the country. I have seen him but. for 
hnlf an hour, yet, without boasting much of discernment, I sec 



WILLIAM COVVPEH. I37 

that he is polite, easy, cheerful, and sensible. An old man 
thus qualified, cannot fail to charm the lady in question. As to 
his religion, I leave it — I am neither his bishop nor his confes- 
sor. A man of his character, and recommended by you, would 
be welcome here, were he a Gentoo, or a Mahometan. 

I learn from him that certain friends of mine, whom I have 
been afraid to enquire about by letter, are alive and well. The 
current of twenty years has swept away so many, whom I once 
knew, that I doubted whether it might be advisable to send my 
love to your mother and your sisters. They may have thought 
my silence strange, but they have here the reason of it. Assure 
them of my affectionate remembrance, and that nothing would 
make me happier than to receive you all in my green-house, 
your own Mrs. Hill included. It is fronted with myrtles, and 
lined with mats, and would just hold us, for Mr. Small informs 
me your dimensions are much the same as usual. 
Yours, my dear friend, 

W. C. 



TO THE KEV^ WILLIAM BULL. 

m Nov. 5, 1782. 

Charissimc Taiirorum 

Quot sunt, vel fuerunt, vel posthac aliis eriint in annis. 

We shall rejoice to see you, and I just write to tell you 
so. Whatever else I want, 1 have, at least, this quality in com- 
mon with publicans and sinners, that I love those that love me, 
and, for that reason, you in particular. Your warm and affec- 
tionate manner demands it of me. And though I consider your 
love as growing out of a mistaken expectation that you shall see 
me a spiritual man hereafter, I do not love you much the less 



13f> COUIIESI'ONDENUE OF 

for it. I only regret that I did not know you intimately in 
those happier days, when the frame of my heart and mini! was 
such as miji;ht have made a connexion with me not altoj^elher 
unworthy of you. 

1 only add Mrs. Unwin's rememhrances, and that 1 am glad 
you believe nic to be, what I truly am, 

Your faithful and affectionate, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEl'H HILL, ESQ. 

MV DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 11, 178J. 

Your shocking scrawl, as you term it, was, however, a 
very welcome one. The character, indeed, has not quite the 
neatness and beauty of an engraving ; but if it cost me some 
pains to decypher it, they were well rewarded by the minute 
information it conveyed. I am glad your health is such, that 
you have nothing more to complain of than may be expected 
on the down-hill side of life. If mine is better than yours, it is to 
be attributed, I suppose, principally, to the constant enjoyment 
of country air and retirement ; the most perfect regularity in 
matters of eating, drinking, and sleeping ; and a hapi)y opan- 
cipation from every thing that wears the face of business. I 
lead the life 1 always wished for, and, the single circumstance 
of dependence excepted, (which, between ourselves, is very 
contrary to my .predominant humour and disposition,) have no 
want left broad enough for another wish to stand ui)on. 

You may not, perhaps, live to see your trees attain to the 
dignity of timber — I, nevertheless, approve of your planting, 
and the disinterested spirit that prompts you to it. Few pco- 



WILLIAM COWPEU. I39 

pie plant, when they are young; a thousand other less profit- 
able amusements divert their attention ; and most people, when 
the date of youth is once expired, think it too late to begin, I 
can tell you, however, for your comfort and encouragement, 
that when a grove, which Major Cowper had planted, was of 
eighteen years' growth, it was no small ornament to his grounds, 
and afforded as complete a shade as could be desired. Were I 
as old as your mother, in whose longevity I rejoice, and the 
more, because I consider it as, in some sort, a pledge and assu- 
rance of yours, and should come to the possession of land worth 
planting, I would begin to-morrow, and even without previously 
insisting upon a bond from Providence that I should live five 
years longer, 

I saw last week a gentleman who was lately at Hastings. I 

asked him where he lodged. He replied at P 's. 1 next 

enquired after the poor man's wife, whether alive or dead. He 
answered, dead. So then, said I, she has scolded her last ; 
and a sensible old man will go down to his grave in peace. Mr. 

P , to be sure, is of no great consequence, either to you, 

or to me; but having so fair an opportunity to inform myself 
about him, I could not neglect it. It gives me pleasure to learn 
somewhat of a man I knew a little of, so many years since, 
and for that reason merely I mention the circumstance to you. 

I find a single expression in your letter which needs correc- 
tion. You say I carefully avoid paying you a visit at War- 
grave. Not so ; — but connected as I happily am, and rooted 
where I am, and not having travelled these twenty years — be- 
ing, besides, of an indolent temper, and having spirits that 
cannot bear a bustle — all these are so many insuperables in the 
way. They are' not, however, in yours ; and if you and Mrs. 
Hill will make the experiment, you shall find yourselves as 



140 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

welcome here, both to mc and to Mrs. Unvvin, as'it is possible 
you can be any where. 

Yours affectionately, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH IHI.L, ESQ. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 1782. 

I am to thank you for a fine cod, which came most op- 
portunely to make a figure on our table, on an occasion that 
made him singularly welcome. I write, and you send me a 
fish. This is very well, but not altogether what I want. I 
wish to hear fi'om you, because the fish, though he serves to 
convince mc that you have mc still in remembrance, says not 
a word of those that sent him, and with respect to your and 
Mrs. Hill's health, prosperity, and happiness, leaves me as 
much in the dark as before. You are aware, likewise, that 
where there is an exchange of letters, it is much easier to write. 
But I know the multiplicity of your affairs, and therefore per- 
form my part of the correspondence as well as I can, convinced 
that you would not omit yours, if you could help it. 

Three days since 1 received a note from old Mr. Small, which 
was more than civil — it was warm and friendly. The good ve- 
teran excuses himself for not calling upon mc, on account of 
the feeble state in which a fit of the gout had left him. He 
tells mc, however, that he has seen Mrs. Hill, and your im- 
provements at Wargravc, which will soon become an ornament 
to the place. May they ! and may you botii live long to enjoy 
them! I shall be sensibly mortified if the season and his gout 
together, should deprive mc of the pleasure of receiving him 



WILLIAM COWPEK. 141 

here ; for he is a man much to my taste, and quite an unique 
in this country. 

When it suits you to send me some more of EHiott's medi- 
cines, I shall be obliged to you. My eyes are, in general, bet- 
ter than I remember them to have been, since I first opened 
them upon this sublunary stage, which is now a little more than 
half a century ago; yet I do not think myself* safe, cither with- 
out those remedies, or when, through long keeping, they have, 
in part, lost their virtue. I seldom use them without thinking 
of our trip to Maidenhead, 'where I first experienced their effi- 
cacy. We arc growing old ; but this is between ourselves : 
the world knows nothing of the matter. Mr. Small tells me 
you look much as you did ; and as for me, being grown rather 
plump, the ladies tell me I am as young as ever. 

Yours ever, 

W. C. 



TO MRS. NEWTON. 

MY DEAR MADAM, Nov. 23, 1782. 

Accept my thanks for the trouble you take in vending 
my poems, and still more for the interest you take in their suc- 
cess. My authorship is undoubtedly pleased, when I hear that 
they are approved either by the great or the small ; but to be 
approved by the great, as Horace observed many years ago, is 
fame indeed. Having met with encouragement, I consequently 
wish to write again ; but wishes are a very small part of the 
qualifications necessary for such a purpose. Many a man who 
has succeeded tolerably well in his first attempt, has spoiled all 
by the second. But it just occurs to me that I told you so once 
before, and if my memory had served me with the intelligence 



142 CORRESPONDENCE OI 

a minute sooner, I woultl not have repeated the observation 
now. 

The winter sets in with great severity. The rifijour of the 
season, and the advanced price of grain, are very threatening to 
the poor. It is well with those that can feed upon a promise, 
and wrap themselves up warm in the robe of salvation. A s:ood 
fire-side and a wbll-spread table are but very inditferent substi- 
tutes for these better accommodations ; so very indifferent, that 
I would gladly exchange them botii, for the rags and the un- 
satisfied hunger of the poorest creature that looks forward with 
hope to a better world, and weeps tears of joy in the midst of 
penury and distress. What a world is this! How mysteriously 
governed, and, in appearance, left to itself. One man, having 
squandered thousands at a gaming-table, finds it convenient to 
travel ; gives his estate to somebody to manage for him ; amuses 
himself a few years in France and Italy ; returns, perhaps, wiser 
than he went, having acquired knowledge which, but for his 
follies, he would never have acquired ; again makes a splendid 
figure at home, shines in the senate, governs his country as its 
minister, is admired for his abilities, and, if successful, adored, 
at least by a party. When he dies he is praised as a demigod, 
and his monument records every thing but his vices. The e.sact 
contrast of such a picture is to be found in many cottages at 
Olney. I have no need to describe them ; you know the cha- 
racters I mean. They love God, they trust him, tiicy pray to 
him in secret, and though he means to reward them openly, the 
day of recompense is delayed. In the mean time they suflor 
every thing that infirmity and poverty can inflict upon them. 
Who would suspect, that has not a spiritual eye to discern it, 
that the fine gentleman was one whom his Maker had in abhor- 
rence, and the wretch last-mentioned, dear to luni as the ajipK 
•f his eye? It is no wonder that the world, who are not in the 



WILLIAM COWPEK. 143 

secret, find themselves oblisied, some of them, to doubt a Pro- 
vidence, and others, absolutely to deny it, when almost all the 
real virtue there is in it, is to be found living and dying in a state 
of neglected obscurity, and all the vices of others cannot exclude 
them from the privilege of worship and honour ! But behind 
the curtain the matter is explained; very little, however, to the 
satistaction of the great. 

If you ask me why I have written thus, and to you especially, 
to whom there was no need to write thus, I can only reply, that 
having a letter to write, and no news to communicate, I picked 
up the first subject I found, and pursued it as far as was conve- 
nient for my purpose. 

Mr. Newton and I are of one mind on the subject of patriot- 
ism. Our dispute was no sooner begun than it ended. It would 
be well, perhaps, if, when two disputants begin to engage, their 
friends would hurry each into a separate chaise, and order them 
to opposite points of the compass. Let one travel twenty miles 
east ; the other, as many west ; then let them write their opi- 
nions by the post. JNIuch altercation and chafuig of the spirit 
would be prevented ; they would sooner come to a right under- 
standing, and running away from each other, would carry on 
the combat more judiciously, in exact proportion to the distance. 

JMy love to that gentleman, if you please ; and tell him, that, 
like him, though I love my country, I hate its follies and its 
sins, and had rather see it scourged in mercy, than judicially 
iuirdened by prosperity. 

Yours, my dear Madam, as ever, 

W. C. 



144 roifUESl'O.NULNCt, Ui 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 



MY DEAR FKIENP, Dec. 7, 1782. 

At seven o'clock this evening, beino; the seventh of Dv 
ccmber, I imagine I see you in your box at the coHee-hoiise. 
No doubt the waiter, as in2;enious and adroit as his predecessors 
were before him, raises the tea-pot to the ceiling with his right 
hand, while in his left the tea-cup descending almost to the floor, 
receives a limpid stream ; limpid in its descent, but no sooner 
has it reached its destination, than frothing and foaming to the 
view, it becomes a roaring syllabub. This is the nineteenlli 
winter since I saw you in this situation; and if nineteen more 
pass over me before I die, I shall still remember a circumstance 
we have often laughed at. 

How diflferent is the complexion of your evenings and mine I 
— yours, spent amid the ceaseless hum that proceeds from the 
inside of fifty noisy and busy periwigs ; mine, by a domestic 
fire-side, in a retreat as silent as retirement can make it ; where 
no noise is made but what we make for our own amusement. 
For instance, here are two rustics, and your humble servant in 
company. One of the ladies has been playing on the liarpsichord, 
while I, with the other, have been playing at battledore and 
shuttlecock. A little dog, in the mean time, howling under the 
chair of the former, performed, in the vocal way, to admiration. 
This entertainment over. I began my letter, and having nothing 
more important to communicate, have given you an account of 
it 1 know you love dearly to be idle, wlien you can find i\\\ 
opportunity to be so ; but as such opportunities are rare with 
you, 1 thought it possible that a short description of the idleness 
I enjoy might give you pleasure. The happiness we cannot call 



WILLIAM COWPER. 145 

our own, we yet seem to possess, while we sympathise with our 
trieuds vvho can. 

The papers tell me that peace is at hand, and tliat it is at a 
great distance ; that the siege of Gibraltar is abandoned, and that 
it is to be still continued. It is happy for me, that though I 
love my country, I have but little curiosity. There was a time 
when these contradictions would have distressed me, but I have 
learnt by experience that it is best for little people like myself 
to be patient, and to wait till time affords the intelligence which 
no speculations of theirs can ever furnish. 

I thank you for a fine cod with oysters, and hope that ere 
long, I shall have to thank you for procuring me Elliott's me- 
dicines. Every time I feel the least uneasiness in either eye, 
I tremble lest, my ^sculapius being departed, my infallible 
remedy should be lost for ever. Adieu. My respects to Mrs. 
Hill. 

Yours, faithfully, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON, 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Jan. 26, 1783. 

It is reported among persons of the best intelligence at 
Olney — the barber, the schoolmaster, and the drummer of a 
corps quartered at this place, that the belligerent powers are at 
last reconciled, the articles of the treaty adjusted, and that peace 
is at the door. I saw this morning, at nine o'clock, a group of 
about twelve figures very closely engaged in a conference, as I 
suppose, upon the same subject. The scene of consultation was 
a blacksmith's shed, very comfortably screened from the wind, 
and directly opposed to the morning sun. Some held their 

T 



146 CORRESPONDENCE OP 

hands behind them, some had them folded across their bosom, 
and others had thrust them into their breeches pockets. Every 
man's posture bespoke a pacific turn of mind ; but the distance 
being too great for their words to reach me, nothing transpired. 
I am willing, however, to hope that the secret will not be a se- 
cret long, and that you and I, equally interested in the event, 
though not, perhaps, equally well-informed, shall soon have an 
opportunity to rejoice in the completion of it. The powers of 
Europe have clashed with each other to a fine purpose ; that the 
Americans, at length declared independent, may keep them- 
selves so, if they can ; and that what the parties, who have 
thought proper to dispute upon that point, have wrested from 
each other, in the course of the conflict, may be, in the issue of 
it, restored to the proper owner. Nations may be guilty of a 
conduct that would render an individual infamous forever ; dnd 
yet carry their heads high, talk of their glory, and despise their 
neighbours. Your opinions and mine, I mean our political 
ones, are not exactly of a piece, yet I cannot think otherwise 
upon this subject than I have always done. England, more, 
perhaps, through the fault of her generals than her councils, has 
in some instances acted with a spirit of cruel animosity she was 
never chargeable with till now. But this is the worst that can 
be said. On the other hand, the Americans, who, if they had 
contented themselves with a struggle for lawful liberty, would 
have deserved applause, seem to me to have incurred the guilt 
of parricide, by renouncing their parent, by making her ruin 
their favourite object, and by associating themselves with her 
worst enemy, for the accomplishn)ent of their purpose. France, 
and of course, Spain, have acted a treacherous, a thievish part. 
They have stolen America from England, and whether they are 
able to possess themselves of that jewel or not hereafter, it was 
doubtless what they intended. Holland appears to me in a 



WILLIAM COWPER. I47 

meaner light than any of them. They quarrelled with a friend 
for an enemy's sake. The French led them by the nose, and 
the English have thrashed them for suffering it. My views of 
the contest being, and having been always, such, I have conse- 
quently brighter hopes for England than her situation sometime 
since seemed to justify. She is the only injured party. Ame- 
rica may, perhaps, call her the ag<^re.ssor ; but if she were so, 
America has not only repelled the injury, but done a greater. 
As to the rest, if perfidy, treachery, avarice, and ambition, can 
prove their cause to have been a rotten one, those proofs are 
found upon them. I think, therefore, that whatever scourge 
may be prepared for England, on some future day, her ruin i§ 
not yet to be expected. 

Acknowledge, now, that I am worthy of a place under the 
shed I described, and that I should make no small figure among 
the quidnuncs of Olney. 

I wish the society you have formed may prosper. Your sub- 
jects will be of greater importance, and discussed with more 
sufficiency. The earth is a grain of sand, but the spiritual in- 
terests of man are commensurate with the heavens.* 

Pray remind Mr. Bull, who has too much genius to have a 
good memory, that he has an account to settle for Mrs. Unwin 
with her grocer, and give our love to him. Accept for your- 
self and Mrs. Newton your just share of the same commodity, 
with our united thanks for a very fine barrel of oysters. This, 
indeed, is rather commending the barrel than its contents. I 
should say, therefore, for a barrel of very fine oysters. 
Yours, my dear friend, as ever, 

W. C 

• Mr. Hayley has transferred the last sentence of this paragraph to a let- 
ter to the same correspondent, dated Feb. 8, 1783. There it was, of course, 
his reflection ; here it is Coivper's ,- which must be the editor's apology for 
the duplicate. 



148 COUKLSl'ONDENCE 01 



TO THE KEV. WILLIAM UNWIN. 

Feb. 2, 1783. 
I <i:;ive you joy of the restoration of that sincere and 
firm friendship between the Kings of f^nsjland and France, that 
has been so long interrupted. It is a great pity, when hearts so 
cordially united are divided by trifles. Thirteen pitiful colonies, 
-which the King of England chose to keep, and the King ol 
France to obtain, if he could, have disturbed that harmony 
which would else, no doubt, have subsisted between those illus- 
trious personages to this moment. If the King of France, whose 
greatness of mind is only equalled by that of his Queen, had re- 
garded them, unworthy of his notice as they were, with an eye 
of suitable indifference; or, had he thought it a matter deserv- 
ing in any degi'ee his princely attention, that they were, in rea- 
lity, the property of his good friend the King of England ; or, 
had the latter been less obstinately determined to hold fast his 
interest in them, and could he, with that civility and politeness 
in which monarchs are expected to excel, have entreated his 
Majesty of France to accept a bagatelle, for which he seemed to 
have conceived so strong a predilection, all this mischief had 
been prevented. But monarchs, alas ! crowned, and sceptred, 
as they are, are yet but men ; they fall out, and are reconciled, 
just like the meanest of their subjects. I cannot, however, sufl&- 
ciently admire the moderation and magnanimity of the King of 
England. His dear friend on the other side of the channel, has 
not indeed taken actual possession of the colonies in question, 
but he has effectually wrested them out of the hands of their 
original owner, who, nevertheless, letting fall the extinguisher 
of patience upon the flame of his resentment, and glowing with 
no other flame than that of the sincerest affection, embraces tlie 



WILLIAM COVVPEK. 149 

King of France again, gives him Senegal and Goree in Africa, 
gives him the islands he had taken from him in the West, gives 
him his conquered territories in the East, gives him a fishery 
upon the banks of Newfoundland ; and, as if all this were too 
little, merely because he knows that Louis has a partiality for 
the King of Spain, gives to the latter an island in the Mediter- 
ranean, which thousands of English had purchased with their 
lives; and, in America, all, that he wanted, at least all that he 
could ask. No doubt there will be great cordiality between 
this royal trio for the future : and though wars may perhaps be 
kindled between their posterity, some ages hence, the present 
generation shall never be witnesses of such a calamity again. I 
expect soon to hear that the Queen of France, who, just before 
this rupture happened, made the Queen of England a present of 
a watch, has, in acknowledgment of all these acts of kindness, 
sent her also a seal wherewith to ratify the treaty. Surely she 
can do no less. 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 8, 1783. 

When I consider the peace as the work of our ministers, 
and reflect that with more wisdom, or more spirit, they might, 
perhaps, have procured a better, 1 confess it does not please me. 
Such another peace would ruin us, I suppose, as effectually as a 
war protracted to the extremest inch of our ability to bear it. 
I do not think it just that the French should plunder us, and be 
paid for doing it ; nor does it appear to me that there was abso- 
lute necessity for such tameness on our part, as we discover in 
the present treaty. We give away all that is demanded, and re- 



ISO COURESPONDENCE OF 

ceive nothing but what was our own before. So I'ar as thisstam 
uj)on our national honour, and this diminution of our national 
property, are a judgment upon our iniquities, I submit, and have 
no doubt but that ultimately it will be found to be judg;ment 
mixed with mercy. — But so far as I see it to be the effect of 
French knavery and British despondency, I feel it as a digrace, 
and grumble at it as a wrong. I dislike it the more, because the 
peacemaker has been so immoderately praised for his perform- 
ance, which is, in my opinion, a contemptible one enough. Had 
he made the French smart for their baseness, I would have 
praised him too ; — a minister should have shown his wisdom by 
securing some points, at least, for the benefit of his country. A 
sclioolboy might have made concessions. After all, perhaps, the 
worst consequence of this awkward business will be dissention 
in the two Houses, and dissatisfaction throughout the kingdom. 
They that love their country, will be grieved to see her tram- 
pled upon ; and they that love mischief will have a fair oppor- 
tunity of making it. Were I a member of the Commons, even 
with the same religious sentiments as impress me now, I should 
think it my duty to condemn it. 

You will suppose me a politician ; but in truth I am nothing 
les^. These are the thoughts that occur to nie while I read the 
nevvspaper ; and when I iiave laid it down, I feel myself more 
interested in the success of my early cucumbers, than in any 
part of this great and important subject. If 1 see them droop a 
little, I forget that wc have been many years at war ; that we 
have made an humiliating peace; that we are' deeply in debt, 
and unable to pay. All these reflections are absorbed at once 
in the anxiety I feel for a plant, the fruit of which I cannot eat, 
when I have procured it. How wise, how consistent, how re- 
spectable a creature is man ! 

Because we have nobody to preach the gospel at Olney, Mr. 



WILLIAM eOWPEK. 151 

waits only for a barn, at present occupied by a strolling 

company ; and the moment they quit it, he begins. He is dis- 
posed to think the dissatisfied of all denominations may possibly 
be united under his standard ; and that the great work of form- 
ing a more extensive and more established interest than any of 
them, is reserved for him. 

Mrs. Unwin thanks Mrs. Newton for her kind letter, and for 
executing her commissions. We truly love you- both, think of 
you often, and one of us prays for you ; — the other will, when 
he can pray for himself.* 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 13, 1783. 

• I am so perfectly at leisure, that I am less excusable for not 
writing frequently to you, than you for not writing at all to 
me. It is not very probable, that in the hurry of so much bu- 
siness, you should form a wish to know in what manner I spend 
my time ; and yet if that information should come, though un- 
invited by a wish, it may not be altogether unacceptable. 

My time passes partly in finding fault with a peace, which, 
deplorable as our condition is, I suppose nobody approves ; and 
partly in quarrelling with a rainy season, and a most dirty 
country. I raise cucumbers which I cannot eat, merely because 
it is difficult to raise them ; and the conquest of difficulties is 
one of the most agreeable things in the world, because it is one 
of the most flattering to our pride. When I can, I walk, but 

* The former part of tliis concluding paragraph was published by Mr. 
Hayley ; but for the sake of the striking sentence which he omitted, the 
editor ventures to repeat it here. 



152 CORRESPONDENCE Ol' 

always with a lady under my arm, which again is amusing, and 
for the same reason; for to extricate the ladies out of all the 
bogs into which I lead them, is no small proof of ingenuity 
and prowess. Thus I spend my mornings ; and my evenings 
in winding their silk and cotton, or reading history to the afore- 
said ladies. Sigh, now, and say — Happy creature ! how I envy 
you. Envy me you must. 

[Torn off.] 



TO TFiE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb, 24, 1783. 

A weakness in one of my eyes may possibly shorten 
my letter, but I n^ean to make it as long as my present mate- 
rials, and my ability to write, can suffice for. 

I am almost sorry to say that I am reconciled to the peace, 
being reconciled to it not upon principles of approbation, but 
necessity. The deplorable condition of the country, insisted 
on by the friends of administration, and not denied by their 
adversaries, convinces me that our only refuge under Heaven 
was in the treaty with which 1 quarrelled. The treaty itself I 
find less objectionable than I did, Lord Shelburne having given 
a colour to some of the articles that makes them less painful in 
the contemplation. But my opinion upon the whole affair is, 
that now is the time (if indeed there is salvation for the coun- 
try) for Providence to interpose to save it. A peace with the 
greatest political advantages would not have healed us ; a peace 
with none may procrastinate our ruin for a season, but cannot 
ultimately prevent it. The prospect may make all tremble who 
have no trust in God, and even they that trust may tremble. 
The peace will probably be of short duration; and, in the or- 



WILLIAM COWPElt. I53 

dinary course of things, another war must end us. A great 
country in ruins will not be beheld with eyes of indifference, 
even by those who have a better country to look to. But with 
them all will be well at last. 

As to the Americans, perhaps I do not forgive them as I 
ought ; perhaps I shall always think of them with some resent- 
ment as the destroyers, intentionally the destroyers, of this 
couniry. They have pushed that point farther than the house 
of Bourbon could have carried it in half a century. I may be 
prejudiced against them, but I do not think them equal to the 
task of establishing an empire. Great men are necessary for 
such a purpose ; and their great men, I believe, are yet unborn. 
They have had passion and obstinacy enough to do us much mis- 
chief ; but whether the event will be salutary to themselves or not, 
must wait for proof. I agree with you, that it is possible, 
America may become a land of extraordinary evangelical light; 
but, at the same time, I cannot discover any thing in their new 
situation peculiarly favourable to such a supposition. They can- 
not have more liberty of conscience than they had ; at least, if 
that liberty was under any restraint, it was a restraint of their 
own making. Perhaps a new settlement in church and state 
may leave them less. — Well — all will be over soon. The time 
is at hand when an empire will be established that shall fill the 
earth. Neither statesmen nor generals will lay the foundation 
of it, but it shall rise at the sound of the trumpet. 

I am well in body, but with a mind that would wear out a 
frame of adamant ; yet upon my frame, which is not very ro- 
bust, its effects are not discernible. Mrs. Unwin i& in health. 
Accept our unalienable love to you both. 

Yours, my dear friend, truly, 

W. G. 



154 t'ORIlKSFONUF.NCK Ol 



lo nir tviN . >s 11 I 1 \\» lu II 



MV OF.AH KKIKNIV .March T. 178.:. 

\\ Irmi will you o.onie and tell us what you think of th«- 
peace ? l> it a s«:ihv1 peace in itself, or a sixwil peace only in 
refeivnce to the ruinous comliiion of oui' country ? 1 quarrelled 
most hitterly with it at tn-st, tuiilins; nothinj;: in the lenns of it 
but disa;ntce and destruction to Ci-eat Britain. Hut havina: 
learnevi since, that we aiv ahrady destivyed and dis£;raced. as 
mucii as we can he, I like it better, and think myself deepl\ 
indebted to the King of France for ti-eatina; us with so much 
lenity. The olive-hj-anch. indeed, has neither leaf nor iVuit 
but it is still an olivi^branch. Mr. Newton and 1 have ex 
ehaniiXHl several letlei"s on the suhject ; sometimes considering, 
like tiiave politicians as we an\ the state o( Kuivpe at lai-ge ; 
'somotintes the state of F.nnland in particular; sometimes the 
conduct of the house of Bourbon ; sometimes that of the Dutch ; 
but most especially that of the Americans. We have not ditVer- 
od jH^rhaps very widely, nor even so widely as wo setMTied to do; 
but still we have ditVertnl. We h«ve» however, manasivd our 
dispute with tenijier, and hitnight it to a iH\u'eable conclusion. 
So tar. at least, we have given prot>f of a w isdom uln\li abler 
^H>liticians than myself would do well to imitate. 

How ilo you like your mirlhern mountaincei"s.* Tan a m.'in 
bo a gornl (^hristian that ptes without bi"etvhes? You are bet 
ter ijualified to solve me this question than any man 1 know, 
having, as 1 am infornunl, pivached to many of them, and eon 
veised, no dovdit. with some. Vou must know, 1 love a High- 
lander, an*l think 1 can stv in them what Knglishmen once 
w-*jY, but never will l)e again. Such have been the eflects o*" 

lllMlIV ' 



Wn>LlAM COWPEK. 155 

You know that I kept \\\o limos, I have written iu)thing 
since I saw you l)ul an epitaph on one of Iheni, which ihed last 
week. I send you tlie ///*,v/ in>i)ression ol" it. 

tloro lios, See* 

Believe nic. my dear iViend, 

AlVeelionately yours, 

W. C. 



TO THK RKV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAU FRIEND, Mavcli, T, 17S3. 

Weie my letters eomposed of materials worthy of your 
acoejitanee, they should he Ioniser. There is a suhject u|)on 
which tliey who know themselves interested in it are never 
weary of writing. That sul>ject is not within my reach ; and 
there are few others that do not soon fatij;ue me. Upon these, 
however, I might possihly he more ditVuse, could I forget that 1 
am writing to i/oii, to whom 1 think it just as improper and 
absurd to send a slieet full of tritles, as it would he to allow 
myself that liberty, were I writing to one of the four evange- 
lists. But since you measure tfir with so much exactness, give 
me leave to requite you in your own way. Voiir manuscript, 
indeed, is close, and 1 do not reckon mine very lax. You make 
no margin, it is true ; if you did, you would have need of their 
Tjilllputian art, who can enclose the creed within the circle of a 
shilling; for, upon the nicest comparison, I fmd your paper an 
inch smaller every way than mine. Were my writing, there- 
fore, as compact as yours, my letters «>///* a margin would bo 
as long as yours without one. Let this consideration, added to 

* Vide Cowpcr's Poems. 



lot) COURESPONDENCE l)» 

that of liieir lutility, prevail with you to think thciu, it not 
Ions;, yet long enough. 

Yesterday, a body of Highlanders passed through Olney. 
They are part of that regiment which lately mutinied at Ports- 
mouth. Convinced to a man, that General had sold them 

to the Ea-^t India Company, they breathe nothing but ven- 
geance, and swear they will pull down his house in Scotland, 
as soon as they arrive there. The rest of them are quartered 
at Dunstable, Woburn, and Newport; in all eleven hundred. 
A party of them, it is said, are to continue some days at Olney. 
None of their principal officers are with them ; either conscious 
of guilt, or, at least, knowing themselves to be suspected as 
privy to, and partners in, the iniquitous bargain, they fear 
the resentment of the corps. The design of government seems 
to be to break them into small divisions, that they may find 
themselves, when they I'each Scotland, too weak to do much 
mischief. Forty of them attended Mr. Bull, who found him- 
self singularly happy in an opportunity to addi-ess himself to a 
flock bred upon the Caledonian mountains. He told them he 
would walk to John O'Groat's house to hear a soldier pray. 
They are in general so far religious that they will hear none 
but evangelical preaching ; and many of them are said to be 
trul}' so. Nevertheless, General 's skull was in some dan- 
ger among them ; for he was twice felled to the ground with 
the butt-end of a muket. The sergeant-major i-escued him, or 
he would have been lor ever rendered incapable of selling High- 
landers to the India Company. I am obliged to you for your 
extract from Mr. Bowman's letter. I feel myself sensibly pleas- 
ed by the approbation of men of taste and learning ; but that 
my vanity may not get too much to windward, my spirits art- 
kept under by a total inability to renew my enterprises in the 
poetical way. 



WIIJ.IAM OOWPER. 157 

We love and respect Mrs. Cunningham, and sympathize with 
aer under her many trials. May she arrive in safety ! Tiie se- 
verity of the season will, 1 suppose, retard her journey. We 
should rejoice more in your joy on the occasion, did not her 
visit to London look witli an unfavourable aspect upon yours to 
Olney. 

We are tolerably well, and love you both. 

Yours, my dear friend, 

W. C. 

When your last letter came, my eye was so much inflamed, 
that I could not look at your seal. It is better now, and I 
mean to consider it well when I see it next. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIKNU, April 20, 1783, 

My device was intended to represent not my own heart, 
but the heart of a Christian, mourning and yet rejoicing, pierc- 
ed with thorns, yet wreathed about with roses, I have the 
thorn without the rose. My briar is a wintry one, the flowers 
are withered, but the thorn remains. My days are spent in va- 
nity, and it is impossible for me to spend them otherwise. No 
man upon earth is more sensible of the unprofitableness of a life 
like mine, than I am, or groans more heavily under the bur- 
then ; but this too is vanity, because it is in vain ; my groans will 
not bring the remedy, because there is no remedy for me. The 
time when I seem to be most rationally employetl, is when I 
am reading. My studies, however, are very much confined, 
and of little use, because I have no books but what I borrow, 
and nobody will lend me a memory. My own is almost worn 



158 COHRESPONDENCE OF 

out. I read the Biographia and the Review. If all the readersr 
of the former had memories like mine, the compilers of that 
work would in vain have laboured to rescue the great names of 
past ages from oblivion, for what I read to-day, I forget to- 
morrow. A by-stander might say, This is rather an advantage, 
the book is always new ; — but I beg the by-stander's pardon ; 
I can recollect though I cannot remember, and with the book 
in my hand I recognise those passages which, without the book, 
I should never have thought of more. The Review pleases me 
most, bf^cause, if the contents escape me, I regret them less, 
being a very supercilious reader of most modern writers. Either 
I dislike the subject, or the manner of treating it ; the style is 
affected, or the matter is disgusting. * * * * 

* * * * * * I see (though he 

was a learned man, and sometimes wrote like a wise one,) la- 
bouring under invincible prejudices against the truth and its 
professors ; heterodox in his opinion upon some religious sub- 
jects, and reasoning most weakly in support of them. How has 
he toiled to prove that the perdition of the wicked is not eter- 
nal, that there may be repentance in hell, and that the devils 
may be saved at last : thus establishing, as far as in him lies, 
the belief of a purgatory, and approaching nearer to the church 
of Rome than ever any Methodist did, though papalizing is the 
crime with which he charges all of that denomination. When 
I think of him, I think too of some who shall say hereafter, 
'' Have we not prophesied in thy name, and in thy name done 
many wondrous works? Then shall he say uiito them, Depart 
from me, for I never knew you." But perhaps he might be 
enlightened in his last moments, and saved in the very article 
of dissolution. It is much to be wished, and indeed ho|)ed, 
that he was. Such a man reprobated in the great day, would 
be the most melancholy spectacle of all that shall stand at the 



WILUAM COWPER. I59 

left hand hereafter. But I do not think that many, or indeed 
any «ill he fouiul there, \vlio in their lives were sober, virtuous, 
and sincere, truly pious in the use of their little light, and though 
iffnorant of God. in comparison with some others, yet sufficiently 
inibrmed to know that He is to be feared, loved, and trusted. 
An operation is often performed within the curtains of a dying 
bed, in behalf of such men, that the nurse and the doctor (I 
mean the doctor and the nurse) have no suspicion of^ The soul 
makes but one step out of darkness into light, and makes that 
step without a witness. INIy brother's case has made me very 
charitable in my opinion about the future state of such men. 

We wait with anxiety to be informed what news you receive 
from Scotland. Present our love, if you please, to ISIiss Cun- 
ningham. I saw in the Gentleman's ^Magazine for last montli, 
an account of a physician who has discovered a new method of 
treating consumptive cases, which has succeeded wonderfully in 
the trial. He finds the seat of the distemper in the stomach, 
and cures it principally by emetics. The old method of encoun- 
tering tlie disoi\ler has proved so unequal to the task, that I should 
be much inclined to any new practice that came well recom- 
mended. He is spoken of as a sensible and judicious man, but 
his name I have forgot. 

Yours, my dear fi'iend, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. WILUAM UNWIN. 

May 12, 1783. 

They that have found a God, and are permitted to wor- 
ship him, have found a treasure, of which, highly as they may 
prize it. they have but very scantj- and limited conceptions. 



1(J0 CORUESPONUKNCE t»F 

Take my \\o\\\ for it, — the word of a man sinsjiilarly well qualified 
to jjive liis evidence in this matter, who liavins; enjoyed the pri- 
vilege some years, has been deprivetl of it more, and has no hope 
that he shall live to recover it. These are my Sunday morning 
speculations, — tlie sound of the bells suggested them, or rather, 
gave them such an emphasis thai they forced their way into my 
pen, in spite of me ; lor though 1 do not often commit them to 
paper, they are never absent fix)m my mind. 

Yours. 

W. C. 



lO THE KFA . WILLIAM BUU.. 

MY DLAR FRIKM). June 3, 17S3. 

ISly givcn-houso, fronted with myrtles, and where I heai 
nothing but the pattering of a fme shower and the sound of dis- 
liuit thunder, wants only the fumes of your pipe to make it per- 
fectly delightful. Tobacco was not known in the golden age. 
So much tlie woi"se lor the golden age. This age of irt)n or lead, 
would be insupportable without it ; and therofoit; we may rea- 
sonably supjwse that the happiness of those better days would 
have been much improved by the use of it. We ho|>e that you 
and your son are perfectly recoverod. The season has been 
most unfavounxble to animal life; and I. who am UKMcly animal, 
have sulVered much by it. 

Though I should be glad to write, I write little or nothing. 
The time for such fruit is not yet come ; but I expect it, and 1 
wisli for iL I want amusement : and, deprived of that, have 
none to supply the place of it. 1 send you, however, according 
to my promise to send you evoy thing, two stanzas composed 



WILLIAM COWPEK. 161 

at the request of Lady Austen. She wanted words to a tune 
she much admired, and I gave her the tbllowinp;, 

ON PEACE. 
No longer 1 follow a sound, &c.* 

Vours, 

w. e. 



TO THE UEV. .lOHN NEWTON. 

JklY DEAll FRIEND, Sept. 8, 1783. 

I have been hitely more dejected and more distressed 
than usual ; more harassed by dreams in the night, and more 
deeply poisoned by tliem in the followins; day. I know not 
what is portended by an alteration lor the worse, after eleven 
years of misery ; but firmly believe that it is not designed as the 
introduction of a change for the better. Yea know not what I 
suft'ered while you were here, nor was there any need you should. 
Your friendship for me would have matle you in some degree a 
partaker of my woes; and your share in them would have been 
increased by your inability to help me. Perhaps, indeed, they 
took a keener edge from the consideration of your presence. 
The frientl of my heart, the person with whom I had formerly 
taken sweet counsel, no longer useful to me as a minister, no 
longer pleasant to me as a Christian, was a spectacle that must 
necessarily add the bitterness of mortification to the sadness of 
despair. I now see a long winter before me, and am to get 
through it as I can. I know the ground, before I tread ujion it. 
It is hollow ; it is agitated ; it sulfers shocks in every direction : 

* vide Poems, vol. iii. p. 98. 
X 



163 LOHRESl'ONDENrK OF 

it is like the soil of Calabria — all whirlpool ami unilnlalioii. 
But 1 must reel throua;h it; at least, if 1 hv not swallowed up 
by the way. 

Yours, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ES«^. 

MY DEAR VUIENI). Oct. -X), UBJ. 

1 have nothing to say on jiolitical subjects, for two rea- 
sons ; first, because I know none that at present would prove 
very amusing, especially to you who love your country ; and, 
secondly, because there are none that I have the vanity to think 
myself qualilieil to discuss. 1 must be^' leave, however, to re- 
joice a little at the failure of the Caisse d'Escomptes, because I 
tliink the French have well deserved it ; and to mourn equally 
that the Royal Geor2;e cannot be weighed : the rather, because 
I wrote two poems, one Latin and one English, to encourage 
the attempt. The former of these only having been publislied, 
which the sailors would understand but little of, may be the 
reason, perhaps, why they have not succeeded. IBclieve me, 
my friend, 

Affectionately yours, 

\\ . C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 22, 1763. 

1 have made a point of saying no fine things to ISIr. 
Bacon, upon an occasion that would well have justified them ; 



WILLIAM COWPEK. f63 

deterred by a Caveat he entered in his letter. Nothing can bo 
more handsome than the present, nor more oblii^ins; than the 
manner in which ho has made it. I take it for granted that the 
plate is, line lor line, and stroke for stroke, an exact represen- 
tation of his performance, as nearly at least, as light and shade 
can exhibit, upon a flat surface, the eficct of a piece of statu- 
ary. I may be allowed therefore to say that 1 admire it. My 
situation aflbrds me no opportunity to cultivate the science of 
connoisseurship ; neither would there be much propriety in my 
speaking the language of one to you, who disclaim the charac- 
ter. IJut we botli know when we arc pleased. — It occurs to 
me, however, that I ought to say what it is that pleases me, for 
a general commendation, where there are so many particular 
beauties, would be insipid and unjust. 

I think the figure of Lord Chatham singularly graceful, and 
his countenance full of the character that belongs to him. It; 
speaks not only great ability and consummate skill, but a ten- 
der and heartfelt interest in the welfare of (he charge commit- 
ted to him. In the figui'c of the City, there is all that em~ 
preaseinoit (pardon a French term, it expresses my idea better 
than any Englisii one that occurs,) that the importance of ber 
errand calls for ; and it is noble in its air, tiiough in a posture 
of supplication. But the ligure of Commerce is indeed a per- 
fect l)eauly. It is a literal truth, that I felt the tears flush into 
my eyes while I looked at her. The idea of so much elegance 
and grace having found so powerful a protection, was irresisti- 
ble. There is a complacency and serenity in the air and coun- 
tenance of Britannia, more suited to her dignity than that ex- 
ultation and triumph which a less judicious hand might have 
dressed her in. She seems happy to sit at the feet of her deli- 
verer. — 1 iiave most of the monuments in the Abbey by heart, 
hat I recollect none that ever gave me so much pleasure. The 



1(}4 rOttRBSPONUKNl-E Ol 

faces arc all expressive, ami «hc t'is;uivs aif all gracelul. — II you 
tliink tlio opinion ol so unlearned a spectator worth communi- 
cating, ami that 1 have not said more than Mr. Bacon's mo- 
ilesty can bear without olience, you are weloome to make him 
privy to my sentiments. I know not why he should bo hurt 
by just praise ; Ins line talent is a ijitt. and all the merit of it is 
His property who ip^ve it. 

Helievo nu\ my dear friend, 

sinceivly iUid alVectionately yours, 

W. r 
1 am out ol vour debt. 



MV UK.XK l-UlKXt). Nor. 3, irSJ. 

My time is short, and my opportunity not the most fa- 
>-ourable. My Wtter will consequently be short likewise, and 
perhaps not very intellia;ible. 1 tind it no very easy matter to 
bring my mind into that de^^rce of composuiv, which is ne- 
oess;u'y to the arrangement either of wonls or matter. You will 
naturally cx|hm:1 to receive some account of this confusion that 
I describe, some reason given lor it. — On Satuixlay night at 
eJeven o'clock, when 1 had not been in Uni live minutes, I was 
alarmed by a cry of fire, announced by two or three shrill 
screams upon our staiit*ase. Our servants, who were going to 
betl, saw it from their windows, and in appearance so near, 
that they thought our house in danger. 1 immeiliately rose. 
and putting by Oie curtain, saw sheets of tire rising abo>-e the 
ridge of Mr. Palmer's house, opjwsite to ours. The deception 
was such, that 1 had no doubt it had begun with M*n^ but soon 
found that it was rathor farther otV. In laot. it was at thivc 



V»n.l.IAM COWl'ER. 165 

places : — in the out-housos bclonginc; to Cieorgc Griggs, Lucv^ 
and Abigail Tvncl. Having broke out in thrcc dilVorcnt parts, 
it is supposed to have been maliciously kindled. A tar-barrel 
and a quantity of tallow maile a most tremendous blaze, and 
the buildings it had seized upon being all thatched, the appear- 
ance became every moment more formidable. Providentially, 
the night was perfectly calm, so calm that candles without lan- 
terns, of which there were multitudes in the street, burnt as 
steadily as in a house. By four in the morning it was so far 
reduced, that all danger seemed to be over; but the confusion 
it had occasioned was ahr.ost intinjte. Every man who suppo- 
sed his dwelling-house in jeopardy, emptied it as fast as he 
could, and conveyed his moveables to the house of some neigh- 
bour, supposed to be more secure. Ours, in the space of two 
hours, was so fdled with all sorts of lumber, that we had not 
even room for a chair by the lire-side. George Griggs is the 
principal sufierer. He gave eighteen guineas, or nearly that 
sum, to a woman whom, in his hurry, he mistook for his wife, 
but the supposed wife walked oflT with the money, and he will 
probably never recover it. He has likewise lost forty pounds' 
worth of wool. London never exhibited a scene of greater de- 
predation, drunkenness, and riot. Every thing was stolen that 
could be got at, and every drop of liquor drunk that was not 
guarded. Only one thief has yet been detected ; a woman of 

the name of .1 , who was stopped by young Handscomh 

with an apron full of plunder. He was forced to strike her 
down, before he could wrest it from her. Could you visit the 
place, you would sec a most striking proof of a Providence in- 
terposing to stop the progress of the llames. They had almost 
reached, that is to say, within six yards of Daniel Raban's 
wood-pile, in which were fifty pounds' worth of faggots and 
furze; and exactlv tbicre t.iipv were extinsiuished : otherwise* 



16G CORRESPONDENCE 01- 

especially if a breath of air had happened to move, all that side 
of the town must probably have been consumed. After all this 
dreadful conflagration, we find nothing burnt but the out- 
houses ; and the dwellings to which they belonged have sufi'ei'ed 
only the damage of being unroofed on that side next the fire. 
No lives wcie lost, nor any limbs broken. Mrs. Unwin, whose 
spirits served her while the hubbub lasted, and the day after, 
begins to feel the eflect of it now. But I hope she will be re- 
lieved from it soon, being better this evening than I expected. 
As for me, 1 am impregnable to all such assaults. I have no- 
thing, however, but this subject in my mind, and it is in vain 
that 1 invite any other into it. Having, therefore, exhausted 
this, I finish, assuring you of our united love, and hoping to 
lind myself in a frame of mind more suited to my employment 
when I write next. 

Youi's, my dear friend, 

W. C. 



10 THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 17, 1783. 

The country around us is much alarmed with apprehen- 
sions of fire. Two have happened, since that of Olney. One 
at liitchin, where the damage is said to amount to eleven thou- 
sand pounds, and another, at a place not far from Hitchin, of 
which I have not learnt the name. Letters have been droppeii 
at Bedford, threatening to burn the town ; and the inhabitants 
have been so intimidated, as to have placed a guard in many 
[Kirts of it, several nights past. Since our conflaairation here, we 
have sent two women and a boy to the justice, for depredation ; 
■^ K , lur stealing a piece of beef, which, in her excuse. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 167 

she said she intended to take care of. This lady, whom you 
well remember, escaped tor wantofevidcr.ee; not that evidence 
was indeed wanting, but our men of Gotham judged it unneces- 
sary to send it. With her went the woman 1 mentioned be- 
fore, who, it seems, has made some sort of profession, but upon 
this occasion allowed herself a latitude of conduct rather in- 
consistent with it, having tilled her apron with wearing apparel, 
which she likewise intended to take care of. She would have 
gone to the county gaol, had William Raban, the baker's son, 
who prosecuted, insisted upon it; but he goodnaturedly, though 
1 think weakly, interposed in her favour, and begged her oft'. 
The young gentleman who accompanied these fair ones, is the 
junior son of Molly Bosvvell. He had stolen some iron-work, 
the property of Griggs, the butcher. Being convicted, he was 
ordered to be whipt, which operation he underwent at the cart's 
tail, from the stone-house to the high arch, and back again. He 
seemed to shew great fortitude, but it was all an imposition 
upon the public. The beadle, who performed it, had fdled his 
left hand with red ochre, through which, after every stroke, he 
drew the lash of his whip, leaving tlie appearance of a wound 
upon the skin, but in reality not hurting him at all. This being 

perceived by Mr. Constable H , who followed the beadle, 

he applied his cane, without any such management or precau- 
tion, to the shoulders of the too merciful executioner. The scene 
immediately became more interesting. The beadle could by no 
means be prevailed upon to strike hard, which provoked the 
constable to strike harder ; and this double flogging continued, 
till a lass of Silvei'-end, pitying the pitiful beadle thus suffering 
Ajnder the hands of the pitiless constable, joined the procession, 
and placing herself immediately behind tlie latter, seized him by 
his capillary club, and pulling him backwards by the same, 
slapt his face with a most Amazonian fury. This concatenation 



16S COnRESPONDENCE OF 

of events has taken up more of my paper than I intended it 
should, but I could not forbear to inform you how the beadle 
threshed the thief, the constable the beadle, and the lady the 
constable, and how the thief was the only person concerned 
who suffered nothing. Mr. Teedon has been here, and is f^one 
again. He came to thank me for some Icft-off clothes. In an- 
swer to our inquiries after his health, he replied that he had a 
slow fever, which made him take all possible care not to inflame 
his blood. I admitted his prudence, but in his particular in- 
stance, could not very clearly discern the need of it. Pump 
water will not heat him much ; and, to speak a little in his own 
style, more inebriating fluids are to him, I fancy, not very at- 
tainable. He brought us nens, the truth of which, however, I 
do not vouch for, that the town of Bedford was actually on fire 
yestcrda}" , and the flames not extinguished when the bearer of 
the tidings left it. 

Swift observes, when ho is giving his reasons why the 
preacher is elevated always above his hearers, that let the crowd 
be as great as it will below, there is always room enough over 
head. If the French philosophers can carry their art of flying 
to the perfection they desire, the observation may be reversed, 
the crowd will be over-head, and they will have most room, 
who stay below. I can assure you, however, upon my own 
experience, that this way of travelling is very delightful. I 
dreamt a night or two since, that I drove myself through the 
upper regions in a balloon and pair, with the greatest ease and 
security. Having finished the tour I intended, I made a short 
turn, and, with one flourish of my whip, descended ; my horses 
prancing and curvetting with an infinite share of spirit, but 
without the least danger, either to me or my vehicle. The time, 
we may suppose, is at hand, and seems to be prognosticated by 
my dream, when these airy excursions will be universal, when 



WILLIAM COWPEU. Kjg 

judges will fly the circuit, and bishops their visitations ; and 
when the tour of Europe will be performed with much greater 
speed, and with equal advantage, by all who travel merely foi* 
the sake of having it to say, that they have made it. 

I beg you will accept for yourself and yours our unfeigned 
love, and remember me affectionately to Mr. Bacon, when you 
see him. 

Yours, my dear friend, 

w. e. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 23, 1783. 

Your opinion of voyages and travels would spoil an ap- 
petite less keen than mine ; but being pretty much, perhaps 
more than any man who can be said to enjoy his liberty, con- 
fined to a spot, and being very desirous of knowing all that can 
be known of this same planet of ours, while I have the honour 
to belong to it, — and having, besides, no other means of infor- 
mation at my command, I am constrained to be satisfied with 
narratives, not always, indeed, to be implicitly depended upon, 
but which, being subjected to the exercise of a little considera- 
tion, cannot materially deceive us. Swinburn's is a book I had 
fixed upon, and determined, if possible, to procure, being pleas- 
ed with some extracts from it, which I found in the Review. I 
need hardly add that I shall be much obliged to Mrs. Hill for a 
sight of it. I account myself truly and much indebted to that 
lady for the trouble she is so kind as to take upon my account, 
and shall esteem myself her debtor for all the amusement I meet 
with, in the southern hemisphere, should I be so fortunate as to 
get there. My reading is pretty much circumscribed, both by 



170 I ORKKSIHJNUKXCK Ol 

\v;\nt ol book.< aiul iho inrtuonoo of jwrlicular Jvasons. I'olmo 
aix' my abhonxnioe, Lvinu; .^lnu)st always hy(>othctie«l. llucluai 
lose, aiul im Israeli oahlo. Philosopliy — I shouM have saiti natu 
lal {Uulo^ophy. nuxthemalicaUy sluUictJ, iloes not* suit uic; am! 
such exhibitions of that suhjool, as ar>e calculati\l for less U\ui. 
eil ix'atloi-s. I have iva^l iu ("onner ilays, and ixnnember in thi 
pjYsiM\l. Poelry. Kuglisli jKHMry, I Jiever touch, beinj; prelU 
much ailiUotetl to the wrilinac of it, and knowing that muci> in- 
teivoursc with those genllcDtea beli'ays us unavoiilably into a 
habit of imitation, which 1 hale iuul despise most coi\hally. 

I am glavl iny uncle is so well, and tlwil he found new In^au 
ties in M> old an acquaintance as the sceue at Hasting;s. M> 
mivsl atfeetionate respects to him, if you please, \vl»en you se\ 
him next. — ]f hr lie the happiest n>an. who h»s least money iu 
the fuiuls, theix; aiv few u|H>n earth whom 1 have any occasion 
lo envy. I wouKl consent. howexxM-, to have my jKHinds mul- 
tiplieil into thousands, evt>n at the haxar\l of all I miglu feel 
irom that lormentinsc )K)ssion. I send nothing; to ilie papers 
myselt\ but I'nwin sometimes seiuls for me. His receptacle of 
n\y s<pubs is the Public Advectisor; but lhevan> very tew, and 
my present oeeuptions are of a kind that will still have a ten 
ilency to make i1r»to tewer. 

Voui%. n\v dear friend. 



OHX SE\%"1\>N. 



M\ mJkR VKIKNIX Nov. », irS5. 

I have neither long visits to pay dot to itjceive, uoi 
laiiies to s^tend hoiirs in telling nte that which mi^t be told in 
ftvv minutet$, \x>t often find mj-sdf obli|^l to be an ec\>noittbt 



WILLIAM COWPKK. 171 

oltime, and to make the most of a short opportunity. Let our 
station be as retired as it may, there is no want of playthings and 
avocations, nor much need to seek them, in this world of ours. 
Business, or what presents itself to us, under that imposing cha- 
racter, will find us out, even in the stillest retreat, and plead its 
importance, however trivial in reality, as a just demand upon 
our attention. It is wonderful how by means of such real or 
seeming necessities, my time is stolen away. I have just time 
to observe that time is short, and by the time I have made the 
observation, time is gone. I hav'e wondered in former days at 
the patience of the Antediluvian world ; that they could endure 
a life almost millenary, with so little variety as seems to have 
fallen to their share. It is probable that they had much fewer 
employments than we. Their affairs lay in a narrower com- 
pass; their libraries were indifferently furnished; philosophical 
researches were carried on with much less industry and acutc- 
ness of penetration, and fiddles, perhaps, were not even invent- 
ed. How then could seven or eight hundred years of life be 
supportable ? I have asked this question formerly, and been at 
a loss to resolve it ; but I think I can answer it now. I will 
suppose myself born a thousand years before Noah was born or 
thought of. I rise with the sun; I worship; I prepare my 
breakfast ; I swallow a bucket of goats-milk, and a dozen good 
sizeable cakes. I fasten a new string to my bow, and my 
youngest boy, a lad of about thirty years of age, having played 
with my arrows till he has stript off all the feathers, I find my- 
self obliged to repair them. The morning is thus spent in pre- 
paring for the chace, and it is become necessary that I should 
dine. I dig up my roots ; I wash them ; I boil them ; I find 
them not done enough, I boil them again ; my wife is angry ; 
we dispute ; we settle the point ; but in the mean time the fire 
goes out, and must be kindled again. All this is very amusing. 
T hunt ; I bring home the prey ; with the skin of it I mend an 



17: OORRKSPONnENCE OF 

old lont. or 1 make a new one. By this time the day is far 
spent ; 1 feel nnsell" t"atii;ueil. and retiiv to iTst. Thus what 
with tillins; the ground, and eatins; the tVuit of it, huntinj; and 
walkiua;, and running:, and n^endins; old elothes, and sleeping 
and rising again. I can suppose an inhahitant of the primseval 
world so mueh occupied, as to sigh over the shortness of life, 
atid to find at the end of many centuries, that they had all slipt 
thn>ugh his tingtus, and weiT passed away like a shadow. \N1vat 
woniler then that I. wlio live in a day o( so much greater re- 
fmement. when there is so much more to be wanted, and wish- 
ed, and to be enjoyoil, should feel myself now and then pinched 
in {X)int of opportunity, and at some lois for leisure to till tour 
sides of a sheet like this? Thus, however, it is, and if the an- 
cient gentlemen to whotu 1 have j-efentnl, and their complaints 
of the dispivportion of time to the occasions they had for it, 
will not stMve me as an excuse, 1 must even plead gviilty, and 
confess thai 1 am oAen in haste, when I ha\-e no good reasoit 
tor being so. 

This by way of intmdurtion •, now for my letter. Mr. Soott 
is desired by Mr. De Coetlegon to contribute to the Theological 
Review, of which, 1 suppose, that gt^ntleman is a man;\ger. He 
says he has insured your assistance, and at the same time desires 
itnine, either in prose or verse. He did well to apply to you, 
because you can aflonl him substantial help ; but as for me, had 
he known me better, he wxndd never have sus(H»cted tue for a 
iheologian. either in rhyme or otherwise. 

Lonl Dartmouth's Mr. Wright spent near two hours with me 
this morning ; a respectable old man, whom I alwa>->5 see with 
pleasure, both for his master's sake and for his own. I was 
glad to learn froni him that his lonlship h.^s better health than 
he has enjoyetl for some years. 

Believe me. my dear friend, yom* after tionate 



WII.MAM <(»M'r,n i7;i 



ro vm: kkn . .xmiv NKwrON. 



MY DKwVU FKIKNl). Hoc. 1.'), 1783. 

1 know not how it Hires with you, at. a liino when plii- 
losophy has just hroua;ht forth her most extraordinary |)ro(hie 
tion, not exceptinj:;, perhaps, that prodiaiy, a ship, in all respects 
complete, ami equal to the la.sk of circuinuaviaiaunc; the ajlohc. 
My mind, hovvover, i.s frequently j;ettin<!; into these balloons, 
and is busy in mull i ply inp; speculalions as airy as the rej;ions 
throuji;h which Ihey pass. 'I'he last account fi'om France, which 
seems so well authenticated, has chani;cti my jocularily upon 
this occasion inlo serious expectation. Tiu" iiivruliou of Ihese 
new vehicles is yet in ils infancy, yet already Iheysi'ein lo have 
attaineil a dei2;ree of ptM-fection which naviji;ation did not reach, 
till ac;cs of experience had matured it, and science had exliaustcd 
both h(M- iuduslry and her skill, in tis improvement. I am aware, 
indeed, that the Orst boat or canoe that was twcr formed, lh()U2;h 
rude in its construction — perhaps not constructed at all, beinji; 
only a hollow tree that had fallen casually into the waiter, and 
which, thouj»;h lurnished.wilh neillu>r sails nor oars, luii^hl yet 
be guided by a pole — was a more perfect creature in ils kind 
than a balloon at present ; the sini;'lc circumstance of its manage- 
able nature «;ivinj;- it a clear superiority both in respect of safety 
and convenience. Hut the atmosphere, though a much thinner 
medium, we well know, resists the im|)ressiou made upon it by 
the tail of a bird, as eHeclually as the water that of a shij)'s rud- 
der. Pope, when inculcating one of his few useful le.s.sons, and 
directing mankind lo the providence of God, as the true .source 
of all their wisdom, says beautifully — 

l.ciwn of llio liltlo Nuiitihis to s:iil. 

Spread llu; tlun oar, and catcli tlic ilriviny- gale 



174 I 1>UUESI'()NUENCK 01 

It is easy to parody these lines, so as tosrive them an accon) 
niodation and suitableness to the present purpose. 

Lcarn of the circle-making kite to flj', 
Spread the fan-tail, and wheel about the sky. 

It is certain, at least, that nothing within the reach of hu- 
man ingenuity will be left unattempted to accomplish, and add 
all that is wanting to this last eflbrt of philosophical contrivance. 
The approximating powers of the telescope, and the powers by 
which the thunder-storm is ilelivcred of its contents peaceably 
and without mischief, were once, perhaps, in appearance more 
remote iVom discovery, and seemed less practicable, than we 
may now suppose it, to give direction to that which is already 
huoyant ; especially possessed as we are of such consuhimatc 
mechanical skill, already masters of prii\ciples which we have 
nothing to do but apply, of which we have already availed our- 
selves in the similar case of navigation, and having in every 
fowl of the air a pattern, which now at length it may be suffi- 
cient to imitate. Wings and a tail, indeed, were of little use, 
while tlic body, so much licavier than the space of air it occu- 
pied, was sure to sink by its own weight, and could never be 
held in equipoise by any implements of the kind which human 
strcngti) could manage. But now we tloal ; at random, indeed, 
pretty much, and as the wind drives us ; for want of nothing, 
however, hut that steerage which invention, the conqueror of 
Tiiany equal, if not superior diflioulties, may be expected to sup- 
ply. — Should the point be carried, and man at last become as 
familiar with the air as he has long been with the ocean, will it 
in its consequences prove a mercy, or a juvlgment? I think, a 
judgment. First, because if a power to convey himself from 
jilace to place, like a bird, would have been good for him. his 
Maker wiMiKl have formed him with such a capacity. But he 



WILLIAM COWl'EK. 175 

has been a groveller upon the eartii for six thousand years, and 
now at last, wiien the close of this present state of things ap- 
proaches, begins to exalt himself above it. So much the worse 
for him. Like a truant school-boy, he breaks his bounds, and 
will have reason to repent of his presumption. — Secondly, I 
think it will prove a judgment, because, with the exercise of 
very little foresight, it is easy to prognosticate a thousand evils 
which the project must necessarily bring after it ; amounting at 
last to the confusion of all order, the annihilation of all authority, 
with dangers both to property and person, and impunity to the 
oflbnders. Were I an absolute legislator, I would therefore 
make it death for a man to be convicted of flying, the moment 
he could be caught ; and to bring him down from his altitudes by 
a bullet sent through his head or his carriage, should be no mur- 
der. Philosophers would call me a Vandal; the scholar would 
say that, had it not been for me, the fable of Daedalus would 
have been realised ; and historians would load my memory with 
reproaches of phlegm, and stupidity, and oppression ; but in the 
mean time the world would go on quietly, and, if it enjoyed 
less liberty, would at least be more secure, 

I know not what are your sentiments upon the subject of the 
East India Bill. This, too, lias frequently afforded me matter 
of speculation. I can easily see that it is not without its ble- 
mishes; but its beauties, in my eye, are much predominant. 
Whatever may be its author's views, if he delivers so large a 
portion of mankind from such horrible tyranny as the East has 
so long suffered, he deserves a statue much more than Mongol- 
ficr, who, it seems, is to receive that honour. Perhaps he may 
bring our own freedom into jeopardy ; but to do this for the sake 
of emancipating nations so much more numerous than ourselves, 
is at least generous, and a design that should have my encou- 
ragement, if I had any encouragement to afford it. 



176 CORRESFONUENCE OI- 

We are well, and love you. Remember us, as I doubt uol 
vou do, with the same aflection, and be content with my senti- 
menUs upon subjects such as these, till I can send you, if that day 
should ever como, a letter more worthy of your reception. 

Nous sommes les votres, 

Guillaume et Marie. . 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FKIENl^, Dec. 27, 1785. 

Thanks to the patiiotic junto, whose eflbrts have staved 
off the expected dissolution, franks have not yet lost their cur- 
rency. Ignorant as they were that my writing; by this post de- 
pended upon the existence of the present parliament, they have 
conducted their deliberations with a slunliness and magnanimity 
that would almost tempt one to suppose that they had known it 
So true it is, that the actions of men are connected with conse- 
quences they are little aware of ; and that events, comparatively 
trivial in themselves, may give birth to the most important. 

My thoughts of ministers and men in power are nearly akin 
to yours. It is well for the public, when the rulers of a state 
aie actuated by principles that may happen to coincide with its 
interests. The ambition of an individual has often been made 
subservient to the general good ; and many a man has served 
his country, merely for the sake of immortiilizing himself by 
doing it. So far, it seems to me, the natural man is to be trust- 
ed, ami no larther. Self is at the bottom of all his conduct. If 
self can be pleased, flattered, enriched, exalted by his exertions, 
and his talents are such as qualify him for great usefulness, his 
countrv shall be the better for him. And tliis, perhaps, is all 
the patriotism we have a right to look for. In the mean time. 



W ILUAM COWl'KK. 1 77 

however, 1 cannot but tliink such a man in some ilo2;ree a re- 
spccial'lo character, and am willins;. a| least, to do him honour, 
solar as I teel myseU' benefited by him. Ambition and the love 
of fame are certainly no Christian principles, but they are such 
as commonly beloni; to men of superior minds, and the iVuits 
they produce may oi^ten pleail their apology. The great men of 
the world are of a piece with the world to which they belong; 
they are raised up to govern it, and in the government of it are 
prompted by worldly motives : but it prospers, perhaps, under 
their management ; and when it does, the Christian world, which 
IS totally a distinct creation, partaking of the advantage, has cause 
to be thankful. The sun is a glorious creature; he does much 
good, but without intending it. 1, however, who am conscious 
of the good he does, though I know not what religion he is of. 
or whether he has any or none, rejoice in hisetfeots, admire him, 
an A am sensible that it is every man's duty to be thankful for 
him. In this sentiment I know you agree with me, for I believe 
he has not a warmer votary than yoursell". 

We say, tlie king can do no wrong; and it is well tor poor 
George the Third that he cannot. In my opinion, however, he 
has lately been within a hairVbreadth of tliat predicament. His 
advisers, indeed, are guilty, and not he: but he will probably 
nnd, however hard it may seem, that if he can do no wrong, he 
may yet sutler the consequences of the wrong he cannot do. 
He has dismissed his servants, but not tlisgraced them ; they 
triumph in their degradation, and no man is willing to supply 
their places. Must their otfices remain unoccupied, or must they 
be courted to resume them ? Never was such a distracted state 
of things within my remembrance; and I much fear that this is 
but the beginning of sorrows. It is not a time of day for a king 
to take liberties with the people; there is a spirit in the Com- 
mons that will not endure it ; and his Majesty's advisers must 



178 OORRF.SPOKnENCE 01 

be less acquaintcil with the lomjx^r of the times than it is possi- 
ble to suppose ihcm, if tl>fy imasjine that such strides of pivro- 
gative will not Ix^ ivsonted. The address will scall him. 1 atfi 
sorry thai he has exi>osed himself to such a reprehension, but I 
Uiink it warranted by the ocMsion. I pit>- him : but king a? 
he is. and nuich as 1 have always honoureti him, had 1 been a 
mejnbor 1 should ha>'e voted for it- 

I am obliged to Mr. Bacon for thinking of me. That expres- 
sion, howe\*er. does not do justice to my feelings. Even with 
the little knowkxige I have of him. I should love him. IW. I no 
reason to suppose myself at any time an object of his attention ; 
but knowing that 1 am so happy as to have a sliare in his re- 
membrance. I certainly love him the more. Truly I am notm 
liis debt : 1 cannot say wherefore it is so. but certainly tew daj-s 
}v»ss in which 1 do not remember him. The print, indeeil. with 
which ho lavoureil me. and which is always in my view, must 
ot\en suggest tlie recollection of him ; but though I greatly value 
it, 1 do not believe it is my only prompter. 

T finish with what I wish may make you laugh, as it did me. 
Mr. Soott. exhorting the people to frequent prayer, closed his 
address thus : — " You have nothing to do but to ask. and you 
will ever find Him ready to bestow. Open your wide mouths. 
and ho will fill them." 

Mrs. I'nwin is well. Accept an old but a true conclusion — 
our united Ioat to you and yours, and believe me. mv dear 
friend. 

Your ever afiectionate 



WII.LIAM rOWl'ER. 17JJ 



ro MRS. Hll.I. 



DEAR MADAM. Jan, 5, 17S4. 

Vou will readily paRlon the trouble I give you by lliis 
line, when I plead my attention to j-our husbami's convenience 
in my excuse. 1 know him to be so busy a man, that 1 cunnot 
in conscience trouble him witli a commission, which I know it 
is impossible he should have leisure to execute. After all, the 
labour would devolve upon you. and therefore I may as well ad- 
dress you in tlie fii"st instance. 

I have read, and return tiie books you were so kind as to 
procure for me. ISIr. Hill gave me hopes, in his last, that from 
the library, to which I hare subscribed, I might still be supplied 
with more. 1 have not many more to wish for, nor do I mean 
to make any unreasonable use of your kinkness. In about a 
fortnight I shall be favoured, by a friend in Essex, witli as many 
as will serve me during the rest of tlie winter. In summer I 
read but little. In the mean time, I shall be much obliged to 
you for Foster's Narrative of the same Voyage, if your libra- 
rian has it ; and likewise, for Swinburn's Travels, which ^Ir. 
Hill mentioned. If tliey can be sent at once, which perhaps tlie 
terms of subscription may not allow, I shall be glad to receive 
them so. If not, tlien Forster's tirst, and Swinburn afterwards : 
and Swinburn, at any rate, if Foi'ster is not to be procured. 

Reading over what I have written, I tind it perfectly free and 
easy ; so much indeed in that style, that, had I not had repeated 
proofs of your good-nature in other instances. I should have mo- 
desty enough to suppress it. and attempt something more civil, 
and becoming a pereon who has never had the happiness of see- 
ing you. But I have always observed, that sensible people are 
best pleased with what is natural and unafl'ected. Nor can I tell 



l)5t) CdUUKSl'ONDENCE OF 

you a plainer truth, than that I am, without the least dissimula- 
tion, and with a warm remembrance of past lavours. 
My dear Madam, 
Your affectionate humble servant, 

W ( 
I beg; to be remembered to Mr. Hill. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MV DKAU KRTEM), • Jan. 8, 1784. 

I wish you had more leisure, that you might oftener fa- 
vour me with a page of politics. The authority of a newspapei 
is not of sufficient weight to determine my opinions, and I have 
no other documents to be set down by. I, therefore, on this sub- 
ject, am suspended in a state of constant scepticism, the most 
uneasy condition in which the judgment can find itself. But 
your politics have weight with me, because I know your inde- 
pendent spirit, the justness of your reasonings, and the oppor- 
tunities you have of information. But I know likewise the ur- 
gency and the multiplicity of your concerns ; and, therefore, 
like a neglected clock, must be contented to go wrong, except 
when, perhaps twice in the year, you shall come to set mc 
right. 

Public credit is indeed shaken, and the funds at a low ebb. 
How can they be otherwise, when our western wing is already 
clijjt to tlic stumps, and the shears, at this moment, threaten 
our eastern. Low, however, as our public slock is, it is not 
lower than my private one ; and this being the article that 
touches me most nearly, at present, 1 shall be obliged to you, 
if you will have recourse to such ways and means for the re- 
plenishment of iTfy exchequer, as your wisdom may suggest, 



WILLIAM COWPEK. 181 

and your best ability suffice to execute. The experience I have 
had of your readiness upon all similar occasions, has been very 
agreeable to nie; and I doubt not but upon the present I shall 
find you equally prompt to serve me. So, 

Yours ever, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Jan. 13, 1784. 

The new year is already old in my account. I am not. 
indeed, sufficiently second-sighted to be able to boast by anti- 
cipation an acquaintance with the events of it yet unborn, but 
rest convinced that, be they what they may, not one of them 
comes a messenger of good to me. If even death itself should 
be of the number, he is no friend of mine. It is an alleviation 
of the woes even of an unenlightened man, that he can wish 
for death, and indulge a hope, at least, that in death he shall 
find deliverance. But, loaded as my life is with despair, I have 
no such comfort as would result from a supposed probability of 
better things to come, were it once ended. For, more unhap- 
py than the traveller with whom I set out,* pass through what 
difficulties I may, through whatever dangers and afflictions, I 
am not a whit the nearer home, unless a dungeon may be call- 
ed so. This is no very agreeable theme, but in so great a 
dearth of subjects to write upon, and especially impressed as 1 
am at this moment with a sense of my own condition, I could 
choose no other. The weather is an exact emblem of my mind 
in its present state. A thick fog envelopes every thing, and al 

* For the passage here alluded to, see the letter published by Mr. Hay 
ley, under the date of Jan. 18, 1784. 



182 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

the same time it freezes intensely. You will tell me that this 
cold gloom will be succeeded by a cheerful sprinjj;. and endea- 
vour to encourage me to hope for a spiritual change resembling; 
it; — but it will be lost labour. Nature revives again; but a 
soul once slain lives no more. The hedge that has been appa- 
rently dead, is not so; it will burst into leaf and blossom at 
the appointed time ; but no such time is appointed for llie stake 
that stands in it. It is as dead as it seems, and will prove itself 
no dissembler. The latter end of next month will complete a 
period of eleven years in which I have spoken no other lan- 
guage. It is a long time for a man, whose eyes were once 
opened, to spend in darkness ; long enough to make despair an 
inveterate habit, and such it is in me. My friends, I know, 
expect tbat I shall see yet again. They think it necessary to 
the existence of divine truth, that he who once had possession 
of it should never finally lose it. I admit the solidity of this 
reasoning in every case but my own. And why not in my 
own? For causes which to them it appears madness to allege,^ 
but which rest upon my mind with a weight of immoveable 
conviction. If 1 am recoverable, why am 1 thus? why crip- 
pled and made useless in the church, just at thai time of life, 
when, my judgment and experience being matured, I might be 
most useful. Why cashiered and turned out of service, till, 
according to the course of nature, there is not lite enough left 
in me to make amends for the years I have lost ; till there is 
no reasonable hope left that the fruit can ever pay the expense 
of the fallow ? I forestal the answer: — God's ways are myste- 
rious, and he giveth no account of his matters : — an answer that 
would serve my purj>osc as w ell as theirs that use it. There is 
a mystery in my destruction, and in time it shall be explained 

Yours, 

w. r. 



WILLIAM COWPEU. \S3 



TO THE REV. WILLIAM BULL. 



MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 22, 1784. 

I owe you thanks for your kind remembrance of me in 
your letter sent me on occasion of your departure, and as many 
for that which I received last night. ^ I should have answered, 
had I known where a line or two from me might find you ; but, 
uncertain whether you were at home or abroad, my diligence, I 
confess, wanted the necessary spur. 

It makes a capital figure among the comforts we enjoyed 
during the long severity of the season, that the same incognitu 
to all except ourselves, made us his almoners this year likewise, 
as he did the last, and to the same amount. Some we have been 
enabled, I suppose, to save from perishing, and certainl)' many 
from the most pinching necessity. 

Are you not afraid, Tory as you are, to avow your principles 
to me, who am a Whig ? Know that I am in the opposition ; 
that though I pity the King, I do not wish him success in the 
present contest. But this is too long a battle to fight up6n paper. 
Make haste that we may decide it face to face. 

Our respects wait upon Mrs. Bull, and our love upon the 
young Hebraean. I wish you joy of his proficiency, and am 
glad that you can say, with the old man in Terence, 

Omnes continu6 laudare fortunas meas, 
Qui natum habeam tali ingenio praeditum. 



Yours. 



W. C. 



IS I COKUESFONDKNCE OF 



TO rilK RF.V. JOHN NKW TON. 



MY DEAR VHIKND. March 19, 1784. 

1 converse, you say, upon other subjects than that of de- 
^patl•, anil may therefore write upon others. Indeed, iny friend, 
1 am a man of very Httlc conversation upon any subject. From 
that of despair 1 abstain as much as possible, for the sake of my 
company ; but I will venture to say tliat it is never out of my 
mind one minute in the whole day. 1 do not mean to siiy that I 
am never cheerful. I am often so : always, indeed, when my 
jiights have been undisturbed for a season. But the etTect of 
such continual listening to the language of a heart hopeless and 
deserted, is, that I can never give much more than half my atten- 
tion to what is started by others, and very rarely start any thing 
myselt". My silence, however, and my absence of mind, make 
me sometimes as entertaining as if I had wit. They furnish an 
occasion foi- friendly and good-natui-ed raillery ; they raise a 
laugh, and 1 partake of it. But you will easily perceive that a 
mind tli*js occupied is but inditierently qualitied for the consi- 
deration of theological mallei's. The most u:^ful and the most 
delightful topics of that kind are to me forbidden tVuit ; — 1 tremble 
if I approach them. It has hap^K'ncd to me sometimes that I 
have found myself imperceptibly drawn in, and made a parly in 
such discourse. The consequence has been, dissatisfaction and 
self-ix'proach. Vou will tell me, perhaps, that 1 have written 
upon these subjects in verse, and may, therefore, if 1 please, in 
prose. But there is a dilVerence. The search after poetical ex- 
pression, the rhyme, and the numbei-s, are all atl-airs of some 
difliculty ; they amuse, indeed, but are not to be attained with- 
out study, and engross, pe;haj)s, a larger share of the attention 
than the subject itself. Pei-sons fond of music will sometimes 



WILLIAM (•()>V1'KW. \vt,r', 

fiiul plcasiirr III the tune, when the words atVord them none. 
There nrc, however, subjci'ts that do not always terriiy me hy 
their importance ; such, 1 iman, as relate to Christian lite ami 
manners: and when Siuii an one presents itself, and finds me in 
a frame of juind that does not absolutely forl)id the employment, 
1 shall most readily J2;ive it my attention, lor the sake, however, 
of your i"cquest merely. V^erso is my favourite occupation, and 
what I compose in that way, I reserve for my own use here- 
after. 

I have lately finished eii^ht volumes of Johnson's Prefaces, or 
Lives of the Poets. In all that number I ol)serve but one man — 
a poet of no i^rjeat fame — of whom I did not know tliat he ex- 
isted till I found him there, whose mind seems to have had the 
slightest tincture of reli»;ion ; and he was hardly in his senses. 
His name was Collins. He sunk into a state of melancholy, and 
died youn^^. Not lon^ before his death, he was found at his 
lodgings in Islington by his biographer, with the New Testa- 
ment in his hand. He said to Johnson, " P have but one book, 
but it is the best." Of him, therefore, there are some hopes. 
But from the lives of all the rest there is but one inference to 
be drawn : that poets are a yoiy worthless, wicked set of people. 
Yours, my dear friend, truly. 

U. ( . 



ro THE REV. WILLIAM UNWIN, 

MV DKAtt WILLIAM, March '21, 1784. 

I thank you for the entertainment you have afl'orded me. 
I often wish Ibi- a library, often regret my folly in selling a good 
collection, but I have one in Essex. It is rather remote, indeed, 
too distant for occasional relerence; but it serves the purpose of 

A ;i 



im 



COKRESPONOENCIi OV 



amusement, and a \va2;u;()n being; a very suitable vehicle Tor an 
author. I find myself commodiously ti;"!!' . Last nig;ht I 
made an end of reading; Johnson's Prefaces; but the number of 
poets whouj he has vouchsafed to chronicle, being fifty -six, there 
must be many with whose history I am not yet acquainted. 
These, or some of these, if it suits you to give them a part ol 
your chaise, when you come, will be heartily welcome. I am 
very much the biographer's humble admirer. His uncommon 
share of good sense, and liis forcible expression, secure to him 
that tribute from all his readers. He has a penetrating insight 
into character, and a happy talent of correcting the popular 
opinion, upon all occasions where it is erroneous ; and this he 
does with the boldness of a man who will think for himself, 
but, at the same time, with a justness of sentiment that con- 
vinces us he does not difi'er from others through affectation, but 
because he has a sounder judgment. This remark, however, 
has his narrative for its object, rather than his critical perform- 
ance. In the latter, I do not think him always just, when he 
departs from the general opinion. He finds no beauties in Mil- 
ton's Lycidas. He pours contempt upon Prior, to such a de- 
gree, that were he really as undeserving of notice as he repre- 
sents him, he ought no longer to be numbered among the poets. 
These, indeed, are the two capital instances in which he has 
offended me. There are others less important, which I have 
not room to enumerate, and in which I am less confident that 
he is wrong. What suggested to him the thought that the Alma 
was written in imitation of Hudibras, I cannot conceive. In 
former years, they were both favourites of mine, and I often 
read them ; but never saw in them the least resemblance to 
each other; nor do I now, except that they are composed in 
verse of the same measure. After all, it is a melancholy ob- 
servation, which it is impossible not to make, after having run 



WILLIAM COWPEK, lg7 

chrou2;h this series of poetical lives, thot where there were such 
shining talents, there should he so little virtue. 

These luminaries of our country seem to have been kindled 
into a brighter blaze than others, only that their spots might be 
more noticed ! So much can nature do for our intellectual part, 
and so little for our moral. What vanity, what petulance in 
Pope ! How painfully sensible of censure, and yet how restless 
in provocation ! To what mean artifices could Addison stoop, 
in hopes of injuring the reputation of his friend ! Savage, how 
sordidly vicious, and the more condemned for the pains that are 
taken to palliate his vices. Offensive as they appear through a 
veil, how would they disgust without one. What a sycophant 
to the public taste was Dryden ; sinning against his feelings, 
lewd in his writings, though chaste in his conversation. I 
know not but one might search these eight volumes with a can- 
dle, as the prophet says, to find a man, and not find one, un- 
less, perhaps, Arbuthnot were he. I shall begin Beat tie this 
evening, and propose to myself much satisfaction in reading 
him. In him, at least, I shall find a man whose faculties have 
now and then a glimpse from Heaven upon them ; — a man, not 
indeed in possession of much evangelical light, but faithful to 
what he has, and never neglecting an opportunity to use it! 
How much more respectable such a character, than that of thou- 
sands who would call him blind, and yet have not the grace to 
practise half his virtues ! He, too, is a poet, and wrote the Min- 
strel. The specimens which I have seen of it pleased me much. 
If you have the whole, I should be glad to read it. I may, 
perhaps, since you allow me the liberty, indulge myself here 
and there, with a marginal annotation, but shall not use that 
allowance wantonly, so as to deface the volumes. 
Yours, my dear William, 

W. C. 



18S COKBESPONDENCE OF 



TO THJ: 1{E\ . WILLIAM UNWIN. 

MY DEAK WILLIAM, April 25, 1784 

Thanks for the fish, with its companion, a lobster, which 
we mean to eat to-morrow. 

7'o t/ir- iiitinniiul Duitiory of the Halijbutty 'm which I 
(lined this day, 
Monday, April 26, 1784. 

Where hast thou floated, in what seas pursued 
Thy pastime ? when wast thou an egg new-spawn'd, 
' -Lost in th' immensity of ocean's waste ? 
^ Roar as they might, the overbearing winds 

That rock'd the deep, thy cradle, thou wast safe — 

And in thy minikin and embryo state, 

Attach'd to the firm leaf of some salt weed, 

Didst outlive tempests, such as wrung and rack'd 

The joints of many a stout and gallant bark, 

And whelm'd them in the unfexplored abyss. 

Indebted to no magnet and no chart, 

Nor under guidance of the polar fire. 

Thou wast a voyager on many coasts. 

Grazing at large in meadows submarine, 

Where flat Batavia just emerging peeps 

Above the brine — where Caledonia's rocks 

Beat back the surge— and where Hibcrnia shoots 

Her wondrous causeway far into the main. 

— Wherever thou hast fed, thou little tliought'st. 

And I not more, that I should feed on thee. 

Peace, therefore, and good health, and much good fish. 

To him who sent thee ! and success, as off 

.^s it descends into the billowy t^ulpli. 



To the same drag that caught thee I — Fare ihce well ! 
Thy lot, thy brethren of the slimy fin 
Would envy, could they know that thou wast dooitTd 
To feed a hard, and to be praised in verse, 

W. C 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, May 10, 1784. 

We rejoice in the account you give us of Dr. Johnson. 
His conversion will indeed be a singular jjroof of the omnipo- 
tence of Grace; and the more singular the more decided. The 
world will set his age against his wisdom, and comfort itself 
with the thought that he must be superannuated. Perhaps, 
therefore, in order to refute the slander, and do honour to the 
cause to which he becomes a convert, he could not do better 
than devote his great abilities, and a considerable part of the re- 
mainder of his years, to the production of some important work, 
not immediately connected with the interests of religion. He 
would thus give proof, that a man of profound learning, and the 
best sense, may become a child without being a fool ; and that 
to embrace the gospel, is no evidence either of enthusiasm, in- 
firmity, or insanity. But He who calls him will direct him. 

On Friday, by particular invitation, we attended an attempt 
to throw off a balloon at Mr. Throckmorton's, but it did not 
succeed. We expect, however, to be summoned again in the 
course of the ensuing week. Mrs. Unwin and I were the party. 
We were entertained with the utmost politeness. It is not pos- 
sible to conceive a more engaging and agreeable character than 
the Gentleman's, or a more consummate assemblage of all that 
is called good-nature, complaisance, and innocent cheerfulness. 



190 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

than is to be seen in the Lady. They hav^e lately received 
many gross affronts from the people of this place, on account of 
their religion. We thought it, therefore, the more necessary 
to treat them with respect. 

Best love, and best wishes, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MV DEAR FRIEND, June 21, 1784. 

We are much pleased with your designed improvement 
of the late preposterous celebrity, and have no doubt that, in 
good hands, the foolish occasion will turn to good account. A 
religious service, instituted in honour of a musician, and per- 
formed in the house of God, is a subject that calls loudly for 
the animadversion of an enlightened minister; and would be 
no mean one for a satirist, could a poet of that description be 
found spiritual enough to feel and to resent the profanation. It 
is reasonable to suppose, that in the next year's almanack we 
shall find the name of Handel among the red-lettered worthies, 
for it would surely puzzle the Pope to add any thing to its 
canonization. 

This unpleasant summer makes me wish for winter. The 
gloominess of that season is the less felt, both because it is ex- 
pected, and because the days are sliort. But such weather, 
when the days are longest, makes a double winter, and my spi- 
rits feel that it docs. We have now frosty mornings, and so cold 
a wind, that even at high noon we have been obliged to break 
off our walk in the southern side of the garden, and seek shel- 
ter, I in the green-house, and iVIrs. Unwin by the fire-side. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 191 

Haymaking beirjins here to-morrow, and would have begun 
sooner, had the weather permitted it. 

Mr. Wright called upon us last Sunday. The old gentleman 
seems happy in being exempted from the effects of time, to 
such a degree, thai, though we meet but once in the year. I 
cannot perceive that the twelve months that have elapsed have 
made any change in him. It seems, however, that as much as 
he loves his master, and as easy as I suppose he has always 
found his service, he now and. then heaves a sigh for liberty, 
and wishes to taste it before he dies. But his wife is not so 
minded. She cannot leave a family, the sons and daughters of 
which seem to be all her own. Her brother died lately in the 
Bast Indies, leavmg twenty thousand pounds behind him, and 
half of it to her ; but the ship that was bringing home this trea- 
sure, is supposed to be lost. Her husband appears perfectly un- 
affected by the misfortune, and she, perhaps, may even be glad 
of it. Such an acquisition wotdd have forced her into a state 
of independence, and have made her her own mistress, whether 
she would not. I charged him with a petition to Lord Dart- 
mouth, to send me Cook's last Voyage, which I have a great 
curipsity to see, and no other means of procuring. I dare say 
1 shall obtain the favour, and have great pleasure in taking my 
last trip with a voyager whose memory I respect so much. 
Farewell, my dear friend : our affectionate remembrances are 
faithful to you and yours. 

W. C. 



192 (JORRESFONUENCE OF 



ru IHE HEA . WILLIAM UNWIN. 

MY DEAR riMENI), July 3, [probably 1784.^ 

I ask pardon for nejijlectini^ a subject on which you con- 
sulted uie in your last. It is too much my practice to reply to a 
letter without reading it at the time ; and, on this occasion, my 
memory failed me. I am no friend to Lilly's Grammar, though 
I was indebted to him for my first introduction to the Latin 
lans^iaj2;e. The grammars used at Westminster, both for the 
Latin and the Greek, are those to which, if I had a young man 
to educate, I should give the preference. They have the merit 
of being compendious and perspicuous, in both which properties 
I judge Lilly to Ixj defective. If I am not mistaken, however, 
they are in use at the Charter-house, so that I have no need to 
describe them to you. They are called Busby's Grammars, 
though Busby did not compose them. The compilation was a 
task imposed upon his uppermost boys, the plan only being 
drawn by the master, and the versification, which I have often 
admired for the ingenuity of it, being theirs. I never knew a 
boy of any abilities, who had taken his notion of language from 
these grammars, that was not accurate to a degree that distin- 
guished him from most others. 

I am writing in the green-house for retirement sake, where I 
shiver with cold on this present third of July. Summer and 
winter, therefore, do not depend on the position of the sun with 
respect to the earth, but on His appointment who is sovereign 
in all things. Last Saturday night the cold was so severe, that 
it pinched ofl" many of the yoimg shoots of our peach-trees. 
The nurseryman we deal with informs me, that the wall-trees 
are almost every where cut off; and that a friend of his, near 
London, has lost all the full-grown* fruit-trees of an extensive 



WILLIAM COWPER. 193 

garden. The very walnuts, which are now no bigger than small 
hazel-nuts, drop to the ground ; and the flowers, though they 
blow, seem to have lost all their odours. I walked with your 
mother yesterday in the garden, wrapped up in a winter surtout, 
and found myself not at all incumberd by it ; not more, indeed, 
than 1 was in January. Cucumbers contract that spot which is 
seldom found upon them except late in the autumn ; and melons 
hardly grow. It is a comfort, however, to reflect, that if we 
cannot have these fruits in perfection, neither do we want them. 
Our crops of wheat are said to be very indifferent ; the stalks of 
an unequal height, so that some of the ears are in danger of be- 
ing smothered by the rest ; and the ears, in general, lean and 
scanty. I never knew a summer in which we had not now and 
then a cold day to conflict with ; but such a wintry fortnight as 
the last, at this season of the year, I never remember. I fear 
you have made a discovery of the webs you mention a day too 
late. The vermin have probably by this time left them, and 
may laugh at all human attempts to destroy them. For every 
web they have hung upon the trees and bushes this year, you 
will next year probably find fifty, perhaps an hundred. Their 
increase is almost infinite ; so that, if Providence does not inter- 
fere, and man see fit to neglect them, the laughers you men- 
tion may live to be sensible of their mistake, 
liove to all. 

Yours, 

W. C, 



15 b 



ff^ ( ORRESPONULNCE Ol" 



1 O THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY UEAll FRIEND, July 19, 1784. 

Notwithstanding the justness of the comparison by which 
you illustrate the folly and wickedness of a congregation assem- 
bled to pay divine honours to the memory of Handel, I could 
not help laughing at the picture you have drawn of the musical 
convicts. The subject indeed is awful, and your manner of re- 
presenting it is perfectly just ; yet I laughed, and must have 
laughed had I been one of your hearers. But the ridicule lies 
in the preposterous conduct which you reprove, and not in 
your reproof of it. A people so musically mad as to make not 
only their future trial the subject of a concert, but even the mes- 
sage of mercy from their King, and the only one he will ever 
send them, must excuse me if I am merry where there is more 
cause to be sad ; for melancholy as their condition is, their be- 
haviour under it is too ludicrous not to be felt as such, and 
would conquer even a more settled gravity than mine.* 
Yoiu's, my dear friend, 

W. (■. 



TO THE KEV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRLt^ND, Oct. 30, 1784. 

I am now reading a book which you have never read, 
and will probably never read — Knox's Essays. Perhaps I 
should premise, that 1 am driven to such reading by the want 
of books that would please me better, neither having any, nor 

* What Mr. Hayloy l»as introduced under the date of this letter immedi- 
ately follo\v!», and is strikingly illustrative of the foreg'oing observMions 



WILLIAM OOWPER. 193 

die means of procuring any. I am not sorry, however, that I 
have met with him ; though when I have allowed him the praise 
of being a sensible man, and in his way a good one, I have 
allowed him all that I can afford. Neither his style pleases me, 
which is sometimes insufferably dry and hard, and sometimes 
ornamented even to an Harveian tawdriness ; nor his manner, 
which is never lively without being the worse for it : so un- 
happy is he in his attempts at character and narration. But 
writing chiefly on the manners, vices, and follies of the modern 
day, to me he is at least so far useful, as that he gives me in- 
formation upon points concerning which I neither can nor would 
be informed except by hearsay. Of such information, however, 
I have need, being a writer upon those subjects myself, and a 
satirical writer too. It is fit, therefore, in order that I may find 
fault in the right* place, that I should know where fault may 
projjerly be found. 

W. C. 



10 JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAK FRIEND, Dec. 4, 1784. 

You have my hearty thanks for a very good barrel of 
oysters ; which necessary acknowledgment once made, I might 
perhaps show mere kindness by cutting short an epistle, than by 
continuing one, in which you are not likely to find your ac- 
count, either in the way of information or amusement. The 
season of the year, indeed, is not very friendly to such com- 
munications. A damp atmosphere and a sunless sky will have 
their effect upon the spirits ; and when the spirits are checked, 
farewell to all hope of being good company, either by letter or 
otherwise. I envy those happy voyagers, who, with so much 



i}j(i COURKSFONDENCE OK 

ease, ascend to regions unsullied with a cloud, and date their 
epistles from an extra-mundane situation. No wonder if they 
outshine us who poke about in the dark below, in the vivacity 
of their sallies, as much as they soar above us in their excur- 
sions. Not but that I should be very sorry to go to the clouds 
for wit : on the contrary, I am satisfied that I discover more by 
continuing where I am. Every man to his business. Their 
vocation is, to see fine prospects, and to make pithy observa- 
tions upon the world below ; such as these, for instance: that 
the earth, beheld from a height that one trembles to think of, 
has the appearance of a circular plain ; that England is a very 
rich and cultivated countr}-^, in which every man's property is 
ascertained by the hedges that intersect the lands; and that 
London and Westminster, seen from the neighbourhood of the 
moon, make but an insignificant figure. I a^mit the utility of 
these remarks ; but, in the mean time, as I say, chacim a 
son gout ; and mine is rather to creep than fly; and to carry 
with me, if possible, an unbroken neck to the grave. 
I remain, as ever, 

Your affectionate, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

Jan. 5, 1785. 

tf A 1 -l^ » it. ■■>!• * * * » 

I have observed, and you must have had occasion to observe 
it oftener than I, that when a man, who once seemed to be a 
Christian, has put off that character, and resumed his old one, 
he loses, together with the grace which he seemed to possess, 
the most amiable past of the character that he resumes. The 



WirJ.IAM COWPEU. 197 

best features of his natural face seem to be struck out, that, 
after having; worn religion only as a handsome mask, he may 
make a more disgusting appearance than he did before he as- 
sumed it. 

According to your request, I subjoin my Epitaph on Dr. 
Johnson ; at least I mean to do it, if a drum, which at this 
moment announces the arrival of a giant in the town, will 
give me leave. I have not yet sent the copy to the Magazine. 

EPITAPH ON BR. JOHNSON. 

Here Johnson lies — a sage, by all allow'd, 

Whom to have bred may well make England proud ; 

Whose prose was eloquence by wisdom taught. 

The graceful vehicle of virtuous tliought ; 

Whose verse may claim, grave, masculine, and strong, 

Superior praise to the mere poet's song ; 

Who many a noble gift from Heaven possess'd, 

And faith at last — alone worth all the rest. 

Oh man immortal by a double prize, 

On earth by fame, by favour in the skies !* 

Mr. has quitted the- country, having neither left ad- 
mirers behind him, nor taken any with him ; unless perhaps 
his wife be one, which admits some doubt. He quarrelled 
with most of his acquaintance, and the rest grew sick of him. 
He even quarrelled with his auctioneer in the midst of the sale 
of his goods, and would not permit him to pi'oceed, finishing 
that matter himself. 

Yours, 

vv. c. 

* By referringto the 8vo edition of Hayley's Life of Cowper, vol. ii. p. 
275.^ the reader will perceive that the conclusion of the Kpitaph was after- 
wards varied. 



IIU) COIinKSl'ONDKNCK or 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 



MY DEAR I'RIKNl), Jan. 22, 178 J. 

The departure of the long frost, by which we were 
})inchcd and sciueczed togetlier for three weeks, is a most agree- 
able circumstance. The weather is now (to speak poetically) 
geiiial and jocund ; and the appearance of the sun, after so tedious 
an eclipse, peculiarly welcome. For were it not that 1 have a 
gravel-walk about sixty yards long, where I take my daily ex- 
ercise, I should be obliged to look at a fine day through the 
window, without any other enjoyment of it ; — a country render- 
ed impassable by frost, that has been at last resolved into rot- 
tenness, keeps me so close a prisoner. Long live the inventors 
anil improvers of balloons ! It is always clear over-head, and 
by and by we shall use no other road. 

How will the Parliament employ themselves when Ihcy meet? 
— to any purpose, or to none, or only to a bad one ? They are 
utterly out of my favour. I despair of them altogether. Will 
they pass an act for the cultivation of the royal wildernesses ? 
Will they make effectual provision for a northern fishery ? Will 
they establish a new sinking-fund, that shall infallibly j)ay oil 
the national debt? 1 say nothing about a more equal representa- 
tion, because, unless they bestow upon private gentlemen of no 
property a privilege of voting, 1 stand no chance of ever being 
represented myself. Will they achieve all these wonders, oi 
none of them ? And shall 1 derive no other advantage from 
the great Wittena-Gemot of the nation, than merely to reail 
their debates, for twenty folios of whicli 1 would not give one 
farthing ? 

Yours, my dear friend, 

W. ( . 



WILLIAM COWPER. igy 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAIl FRIEND, Olney, Feb, 19, I78j. 

I am obliged to you for apprising me of Ihe various oc- 
casions of delay to which your letters arc liable. Furnished 
with such a key, I shall be able to account for any accidental 
tardiness, without supposing any thing worse than that you your- 
self have been interrupted, or that your messenger has not been 
punctual. 

Mr. Teedcn has just left us. lie came to exhibit to us a 
specimen oi his kinsman's skill in the art of book-binding. 
The book on which he had exercised his ingenuity was your 
Life. You did not, indeed, make a wsy splendid appearance ;. 
but, considering ttiat you were dressetl by an untaught artificer, 
and that it was his first attempt, you had no cause to be dis- 
satisfied, 'i'be young man has evidently the possession of 
talents, by which he might shine both for the benefit of others 
and for his own, did not his situation smother him. He can 
make a dulcimer, tune it, play upon it, and with common ad- 
vantages would undoubtedly have been able to make an har])si- 
chord. But, unfortunately he lives where neither the one nor 
the other are at all in vogue. He can convert the shell of a 
cocoa-nut into a decent drinking-cup ; but when he has done, 
he must cither fill it at the pump, or use it merely as an orna- 
ment of his own mantle-tree. In like manner, he can bind a 
book; but if he would have books to bind, he must either make 
ihem or buy them, for we have few or no literati at Olney. 
Some men have talents with which they do mischief; and others 
have talents with which, if they do no mischief to others, at 
least they can do but little good to themselves. They are, how- 
ever, always a blessing, unless by our own folly we make them 



SOO (JOHRESl'ONDENCE (JJ 

a curse; for it' we cannot turn lliem to a lucrative account, they 
may however furnish us, at many a dull season, with the means 
of innocent amusement. Such is the use that Mr. Killin2;worth 
makes of his ; anil tliis evening we have, I think, made him 
happy, having furnished him with two octavo volumes, in which 
the principles and practice of all ingenious arts are inculcated 
and explained. I make little doubt that, hy the half of it, he 
will in time be able to perform many feats, for which lie wiH 
never be one farthing the richer, but by which, nevertheless, 
himself and his kin will be much diverted. 

How much better is he employed than a neighbour of ours 
has been for many years, whose sole occupation, although he too 
is naturally ingenious, has centred in filling his glass and empty- 
ing it. He is neither unknown nor much known to you, but 

you remember him by the name of . He is now 

languishing in a drojjsy, and, in the prime of life, labouring 
xmder all the infirmities of age. He solaces himself, I am told, 
with the recollection of somewhat that passed in his experience 
many years ago, which, although it has been followed by no bet- 
ter fruits than will grow at an alehouse, he dignifies with the 
name of Conversion. Sows are so converted when they arc 
washed, and give the same evidence of an unchanged nature by 

returning to the mire. Mr. , whose daughter he married, 

often visits him, but declares, that of all the insensibles he ever 

saw, poor is the most completely stupid. So long as he 

was able to crawl into tlie street, his journey was to the Royal 
Oak and home again ; and so punctual were we both, I in clean- 
ing my teeth at my window, and he in drinking his dram at 
the same time, that I seldom failed to observe him. But both 
his legs are now blistered, and refuse to assist him in poisoning 
himself any longer. 

The winter returning upon us at this late season with redou- 



WILLIAM COWPER. 201 

bled severity, is an event unpleasant even to us who are well 
furnished with fuel, and seldom feel much of it, unless when 
we step into bed or get out of it ; but how much more formi- 
dable to the poor ! When ministers talk of resources, that word 
never fails to send my imagination into the mud-wall cottages 
of our poor at Olney. There I find assembled, in one indivi- 
dual, the miseries of age, sickness, and the cxtremest penury. 
We have many such instances around us. The parish, per- 
haps, allows such an one a shilling a week; but, being nqmb- 
ed with cold, and crippled by disease, she cannot possibly earn 
herself another. Such persons, therefore, suffer all that famine 
can inflict upon them, only that they are not actually starved ; 
a catastrophe which, to many of them, I suppose, would prove 
a happy release. One cause of all this misery is, the exorbitant 
taxation with which the country is encumbered ; so that, to the 
poor, the few- pence they are able to procure have almost lost 
their value. Yet the budget will be opened soon, and soon we 
shall hear of resources. But 1 could conduct the statesman, 
who rolls down to the House in a chariot as splendid as that of 
Phaeton, into scenes that, if he had any sensibility for the woes 
of others, would make him tremble at the mention of the 
word. — This, however, is not what I intended when I began 
this paragraph. I was going to observe, that of all the winters 
we have passed at Olney, and this is the seventeenth, the pre- 
sent has confined us most. Thrice, and but thrice, since the 
middle of October, have we escaped into the fields for a little 
fresh air, and a little change of motion. The last time, indeed, 
it vvas at some peril that we did it, Mrs. Unwin having slipped 
into a ditch, and, though I performed the part of an active 
"squire upon the occasion, escaped out of it upon her hands, 
and knees. 

If the town afford any other news than I here send you, it 

c c 



o(j2 (JOnRESPONUENCE OF 

has not reached me yet. I am in perfect health, at least ol 
body, anjcl Mrs. Unwin is tolerably well. Adieu! Weremem 
ber you always, y ni aiul yours, with as much affection as you 
can desire ; which being said, and said truly, leaves me quitr 
at a loss lor any other conclusion than that of 

W. C. 



ru JOSEPH HILL, ESQ, 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 27, 1785. 

I write merely to inquire after your health, and with a 
sincere desire to hear that you are better. Horace somewhere 
advises his friend to give his client the slip, and come and 
spend the evening with him. I am not so inconsiderate as to 
recommend the same measure to you, because we are not such 
very near neighbours as a trip of that sort requires that we 
should be. But I do verily wish that you would favour me 
with just five minutes of the time that properly belongs t© 
your clients, and place it to my account. Employ it, I mean, 
in telling me that you are better at least, if not recovered. 

I have been pretty much indisposed myself since I wrote 
last; but, except in point of strength, am now as well as be- 
fore. My disorder was what is commonly called and best un- 
derstood by the name of a thorough cold ; which, being inter- 
preted, no doubt you will know, signifies shiverings, aches, 
burnings, lassitude, together with many other ills that flesh is 
heir to. James's Powder is my nostrum on all sUch occasions, 
and never fails. 

Yours, my dear friend, 

w. r 



WILLIAM GOWPER. 203 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAR FRIEND, March 19, 1785. 

You will wonder, no doubt, when I tell you that I write 
upon a card-table ; and will be still more surprised when I add, 
that we breakfast, dine, sup, upon a card-table. In short, it 
serves all purposes, except the only one for which it was ori- 
ginally designed. The solution of this mystery shall follow, 
lest it should run in your head at a wrong time, and should 
puzzle you, perhaps, when you are on the point of ascending 
your pulpit : for I have heard you say, that at such seasons 
your mind is often troubled with impertinent intrusions. The 
round table, which we formerly had in use, was unequal to the 
pressure of my super-incumbent breast and elbows. When I 
wrote upon it, it creaked and tilted, and, by a variety of in- 
convenient tricks, disturbed the process. The fly -table was too 
slight and too small ; the square dining-table, too heavy and too 
large, occupying, when its leaves were spread, almost the whole 
parlour ; and the sideboard-table, having its station at too great 
a distance from the fire, and not being easily shifted out of its 
place and into it again, by reason of its size, was equally unfit 
for my purpose. The card-table, therefore, which had for 
sixteen years been banished as mere lumber ; the card-table, 
which is covered with green baize, and is, therefore, preferable 
to any other that has a slippery surface ; the card-table, that 
stands firm and never totter.s, — is advanced to the honour of as- 
sisting me upon my scribi)ling occasions; and, because we 
choose to avoid the trouble of making frequent changes in the 
position of our household furniture, proves equally serviceable 
upon all others. It has cost us now and then the downfall of a 
glass: for, when covered with a table-cloth, the fish-ponds arc 



'J04 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

not easily discerned ; and not being seen, are sometimes as lit- 
tle thought of. But having numerous good qualities which 
abundantly compensate that single inconvenience, we spill upon 
it our coIFec, our wine, and our ale, without murmuring, and 
resolve that it sl)all be our table still, to the exclusion of all 
others. Not to be tedious, I will add but one more circum- 
stance upon the subject, and that only because it will impress upon 
you, as much as any thing that I have said, a sense of the value 
we set upon its cscritorial capacity. — Parched and penetrated 
on one side by the heat of the fire, it has opened into a large 
fissin-e, which pervades not the moulding of it only, but the 
very substance of the plank. At the mouth of this aperture, a 
sharp splinter presents itself, which, as sure as it comes in con- 
tact with a gown or an apron, tears it. It happens, unfortu- 
nately, to be on that side of this excellent and never-to-be-for- 
o-otten table which Mrs. Unwin sweeps with her apparel, al- 
most as often as she rises from her chair. The consequences 
need not, to use the fashionable phrase, be given in detail : but 
the needle sets all to rights; and the card-table still holds pos- 
session of its functions without a rival. 

Clean roads and milder weather ha\e once more released us, 
opening a way for our escape into our accustomed walks. We 
have both, I believe, been sufferers by such a long confinement. 
Mrs. Unwin has had a nervous (cvor all the winter, and I a 
stomach that has quarrelled with every thing, and not seldom 
even with its bread and butter. Her complaint, I hope, is at 
length removed ; but mine seems more obstinate, giving way to 
nothing that I can oppose to it, except just in the moment when 
the opposition is made. I ascribe this malady — both our mala- 
dies, indeed — in a great measure, to our want of exercise. We 
have each of us practised more, in other days, than lately we- 
have been able to take; and for my own part, till I was more 



/ 



WILLIAM COWPEU. 205 

than thirty years old, it was almost essential to my comfort to 
be perpetually in motion. My constitution, therefore, misses, 
I doubt not, its usual aids of this kind ; and unless, for purposes 
which I cannot foresee, Providence should interpose to prevent 
it, will probably reach the moment of its dissolution the sooner 
for being so little disturbed. A vitiated digestion, 1 believe, 
always terminates, if not cured, in the production of some chro- 
nical disorder. In several I have known it produce a dropsy. 
But no matter. Death is inevitable ; and whether we die to-day 
or to-morrow, a watery death or a dry one, is of no consequence. 
The state of our spiritual health is all. Could I discover a few 
more symptoms of convalescence there, this body might moulder 
into its original dust without one sigh from me. Nothing of all 
this did I mean to say ; but I have said it, and must now seek 
another subject. 

One of our most favourite walks is spoiled. The spinney is 
cut down to the stumps: even the lilacs and the syringas, to 
the stumps. Little did I think, (though indeed I might have 
thought it,) that the trees which screened me from the sun last 
summer would this winter be employed in roasting potatoes and 
boiling tea-kettles for the poor of Olney. But so it has proved ; 
and we ourselves have, at this moment, more than two waggon- 
loads of them in our wood-loft. 

Such various services can trees perform ; 

Whom once they skreen'd from heat, in time they warm. 

The mention of the poor reminds me of saying, in answer to 

your application in behalf of the F 's, that they long since 

received a portion of their nameless benefactor's annual remit- 
tance. Mrs. Unwin sent them more than twelve pounds of 
beef, and two gallon loaves. 

A letter from Manchester reached our town last Sunday, ad- 



/ 



206 eORRESPONDENCK OJt 

dressed to the Mayor or other chief magistrate of Olney. The 
purport of it was, to excite him and his neighbours to petition 
Parliament agamst the concessions to Ireland that Government 
has in contemplation. Mr. Maurice Smith, as constable, took 
the letter. But whether that most respectable personage amongst 
us intends to comply with theterms of it, or not, I am ignorant. 
For myself, however, I can pretty well answer, that I shall sign 
no petition of the sort ; both because I do not think myself com- 
petent to a right understanding of the question, and because it 
appears to me, that, whatever be the event, no place in England 
can be less concerned in it than Olney. 

We rejoice that you are all well. Our love attends Mrs. New- 
ton and yourself, and the young ladies. 

I am yours, my dear friend, as usual, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAR FRIEND, April 9, 1785. 

In a letter to the printer of the Northampton Mercury, 
we have the following history. — An ecclesiastic of the name of 
Ziehen, German superintendant or Lutheran bishop of Zetter- 
feldt, in the year 1779 delivered to the courts of Hanover and 
Brunswick a prediction to the following purport. That an 
earthquake is at hand, the greatest and most destructive ever 
known; that it will originate in the Alps and in their neigh- 
bourhood, especially at Mount St. Gothard ; at the foot of which 
mountain, it seems, four rivers have their source, of which the " 
Rhine is one. The names of the rest I have forgotten. They 
are all to be swallowed up. That the earth will open into an 
immense fissure, which will divide all Europe, reaching from 



WILLIAM COWPER. 



207 



the aforesaid mountain to the states of Holland ; that the Zuyder 
Sea will be absorbed in the gulf; that the Bristol Channel will 
be no more : in short, that the North of Europe will be separated 
from the South, and that seven thousand cities, towns, and vil- 
lages will be destroyed. This prediction he delivered at the 
aforesaid Courts, in the year seventy-nine, asserting, that in 
February following the commotion would begin, and that by 
Easter 1786, the whole would be accomplished. Accordingly, 
between the fifteenth and twenty-seventh pf February, in the 
year eighty, the public gazettes and newspapers took notice of 
several earthquakes in the Alps, and in the regions at their foot ; 
particularly about Mount St. Gothard. From this partial fulfil- 
ment, Mr. argues the probability of a complete one, and 

exhorts the world to watch and be prepared. He adds, moreover, 
that Mr. Ziehen was a pious man, a man of science, and a man 
of sense ; and that when he gave in his writing, he offered to 
swear to it — I suppose, as a revelation from above. He is since 
dead. 

Nothing in the whole affair pleases me so much, as that he 
has named a short day for the completion of his prophecy. It 
is tedious work to hold the judgment in suspense for many years ; 
but any body, methinks, may wait with patience till a twelve- 
month shall pass away, especially when an earthquake of such 
magnitude is in question. I do not say that Mr. Ziehen is de- 
ceived ; but if he be not, I will say that he is the first modern 
prophet who has not both been a subject of deception himself^, 
and a deceiver of others. A year will show. 

Mrs. Unwin thanks Mrs. Newton for her letter. We hope 
that Patty has been falsely accused. But, however that may 
be, we see great cause to admire either the cogency of her argu- 
ments, or her husband's openness to conviction, who, by a 
single box on the ear, was so effectually assured of the innocence 



208 COKKESPONDENCE OF 

of his wife, as to become more attached to her than ever. For 
the sake of good husbands, it is to be hoped that she will keep 
her nostrum a secret, or communicate it only to ladies in her 
own piedicament, who have need of the most forcible prool's of 
their integrity. 

Our love attends all your family. Believe me, my dear friend, 
affectionately yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAR FRIEND, April 22, 1785. 

When I received j^our account of the great celebrity of 
John Gilpin, I felt myself both flattered and grieved. Being 
man, and having in my composition all the ingredients of which 
other men are made, and vanity among the rest, it pleased me 
to reflect that I was on a sudden become so famous, and thatall 
the world was busy enquiring after me: but the next moment, 
recollecting my former self, and that thirteen years ago, as harm- 
less as Johri's history is, I should not then have written it, my 
spirits sank, and I was ashamed of my success. Your letter was 
followed the next post by one from Mr. Unwin. You tell me 
that I am rivalled by Mrs. Bellamy ; and he, that I have a com- 
petitor for fame, not less formidable, in the Learned Pig. Alas! 
what is an author's popularity worth, in a world that can suffer 
a prostitute on one side, and a pig on the other, to eclipse his 
brightest glories? I am therefore sufficiently humbled by these 
considerations; and unless I should hereafter be ordained to 
engross the public attention by means more magniiicent than a 
song, am persuaded that I shall suffer no real detriment by their 
applause. I have produced many things, under the influence of 



WILLIAM COWPER. 209 

despair, which hope would not have permitted to spring. But 
if tlie soil of that melancholy, in which I have walked solongj 
has thrown up here and there an unprofitable fungus, it is well, 
at least, that it is not chargeable with having brought forth 
poison. Like you, I see, or think I can see, that Gilpin may 
have his use. Causes, in appearance trivial, produce often the 
most beneficial consequences ; and perhaps my volumes may now 
travel to a distance, which, if they had not been ushered into 
the world by that notable horseman, they would never have 
reached. Our temper differs somewhat from that of the ancient 
Jews. They would neither dance nor weep. We indeed, 
weep not, if a man mourn unto us ; but I must n6eds say, 
that, if he pipe, we seem disposed to dance with the greatest 
alacrity. 

Yours, 

w. e. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, May, 1785. 

I do not know that I shall send you news ; but, whether 
it be news or not, it is necessary that I should relate the fact,* 
lest I should omit an article of intelligence important at least at 
Olney. The event took place much nearer to you than to us, 
and yet it is possible that no account of it may yet have reached 
you. — Mr. Ashburner, the elder, went to London on Tuesday 
se'nnight in perfect health and in high spirits, so as to be re- 
markably cheerful ; and was brought home in an hearse the 
Friday following. Soon after his arrival in town, he complained 
of an acute pain in his elbow, then in his shoulder, then in both 
shoulders ; was blooded ; took two doses of such medicine as an 

D d 



glO rORUESPONDENCE OF 

apothecary tbought might do bun good ; and died on Thursday, 
in the morning, at ten o'clock. When I first heard the tidings. 
I could hardly credit them ; and yet have lived long enough my- 
self to have seen manifold and most convincing proofs, that 
neither health, great strength, nor even youth itself, afford the 
least security from the stroke of death. It is not common, how- 
ever, for men at the age of thirty-six to die so suddenly. I saw 
him but a few days before, with a bundle of gloves and hatbands 
under his arm, at the door of Geary Ball, who lay at that time 
a corpse. The following day, 1 saw him march bclore the 
coffin, and lead the procession that followed Geary to the grave. 
He might be truly said to march, for his step was heroic, his 
figure athletic, and his countenance as firm and confident as if 
he had been born only to bury others, and was sure nevei- 
to be buried himself. Such he appeared to me, while I stood 
at the window and contemplated his deportment ; and then It 
died. 

I am sensible of the tenderness and affectionate kindness 
with which you recollect our past intercourse, and express your 
hopes of my future restoration. I, too, within the last eight 
months, have had my hopes, though they have been of short 
duration ; cut off, like the foam upon the waters. Some pre- 
vious adjustments, indeed, are necessary, before a lasting ex- 
pectation of comfort can have place in me. There are those 
persuasions in my mind which either entirely forbid the 
entrance of hope, or, if it enter, immediately eject it. They 
are incompatible with any such inmate, and must be turned oul 
themselves before so desirable a guest can possibly have secure 
possession. This, you say, will be done. It may be, but it is 
not done yet ; nor has a single step in the course of God's 
dealings with me been taken towards it. If I mend, no 
creature ever mended so slowly that recovered at last, i am 



WILLIAM GOWPEK. oil 

like a slug or snail, that has fallen into a deep well : slug as he 
is, he performs his descent with an alacrity proportioned to his 
weight : but he does not crawl up again quite so fast. Mine 
was a rapid plunge; but my return to daylight, if 1 am indeed 
returning, is leisurely enough. — I wish you a swift progress, and 
a pleasant one, through the great subject that you have in hand ; 
and set that value upon your letters to which they are in them- 
selves entitled, but which is certainly encreased by that pecu- 
liar attention which the writer of them pays to me. Were I 
such as I once was, I should say that I have a claim upon your 
particular notice which nothing ought to supersede. Most of 
your other connexions 3'ou may fairly be said to have formed 
by your own act; but your connexion with me was the work 
of God. The kine that went up with the ark from Bethshc- 
mesh left what they loved behind them, in obedience to an im- 
pression which to them was perfectly dark and unintelligible. 
Your journey to Huntingdon was not less wonderful. He, in- 
deed, who sent yoti, knew well wherefore, but you knew not. 
That dispensation, therefore, would furnish me, as long as we 
can both remember it, with a plea for some distinction at your 
hands, had I occasion to use and urge it, which I have not. But 
I am altered since that time ; and if your affection for me had 
ceased, you might very reasonably justify your change by mine. 
I can say nothing for myself at present ; but this I can venture 
to foretell, that should the restoration of which my friends assure 
me obtain, I shall undoubtedly love those who have continued 
to love me, even in a state of transformation from my former 
self, much more than ever. I doubt not that Nebuchadnezzar 
had friends in his prosperity ; all kings have many. But when 
his nails become like eagles' claws, and he ate grass like an ox, 
I suppose he had few to pity him. 

* # * • -)(;*# 



212 COURESPONDENCE OF 

I am glad that Johnson is in fact a civiller man than 1 sup- 
posed him. My quarrel with him was not for any stricture of 
his upon my poetry, (for he has made several, and many of 
them have been judicious, and my work will be the better for 
them,) but for a certain rudeness with which he questioned my 
judgment of a writer of the- last century, though 1 only mention 
the efl'ect that his verses had upon me when a boy. There cer- 
tainly was at the time a bustle in his temper, occasioned, 1 ima- 
gine, by my being a little importunate with him to proceed. 
He has, however, recovered himself since ; and, except that the 
press seems to have stood still this last week, has printed as fast 
as I could wish. Had he kept the same pace from the begin- 
ning, the book had been published, as indeed it ought to have 
been, three months ago. That evil report of his indolence 
■reaches me from every body that knows him, and is so general, 
that had I a work, or thQ publication of one in hand, the ex- 
penses of which I intended to take the hazard of upon myself, 
I should be very much afraid to employ hina. He who w^ill 
neglect himself cannot well be expected to attend to the inte- 
rests of another. 

We are going to pay Mr. Pomfret a morning visit. Our er- 
rand is to see a fine bed of tulips, a sight that I never saw. Fine 
painting, and God the artist. — Mrs. Unwin has something to 
say in the cover. I leave her therefore to make her own cour- 
tesy, and only add that I am yours and Mrs. Newton's 

A^ectionate 

W. C. 



WILLIAM COWPER. glS 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON'. 



MY DEAR FRIEND, June 4, 1735. 

Mr. Greatheed had your letter the day after we receiv- 
ed it. He is a well-bred, agreeable youno- man, and one whose 
eyes have been opened, I doubt not, for the benefit of others as 
well as for his own. He preached at Olney, a day or two ago, 
and I have reason to think with acceptance and success. One 
person, at least, who had been in prison some weeks, received 
his enlargement under him. I should have been glad to have 
been a hearer ; but that privilege is not allowed me yet. In- 
deed, since I told you that I had hope, I have never ceased to 
despair ; and have repented that I made my boast so soon, more 
than once. A king may forbid a man to appear before him, 
and it were strange if the King of kings might not do the same. 
I know it to be his will that 1 should not enter into his presence 
now ; when the prohibition is taken ofT, I shall enter ; but in 
the mean time, I should neither please him, nor serve myself, 
by intruding. 

My book is at length printed, and I returned the last proof 
to Johnson on Tuesday. I have ordered a copy to Charles 
Square, and have directed Johnson to enclose one with it, ad- 
dressed to John Bacon, Esq. I was obliged to give you this 
trouble, not being sure of the place of his abode. I have taken 
the liberty to mention him, as an artist, in terms that he well 
deserves. The passage was written soon after I received the 
engraving with which he favoured me, and while the impres- 
sion that it made upon me was yet warm. He will, therefore, 
excuse the liberty that I have taken, and place it to the acco'unt 
of those feelings which he himself excited. 

The walking season is returned. We visit the wilderness 



214 CORRESPONDENCE 01 

daily. Mr. Throckmorton, last summer, presented me witii a 
key of his garden. The family are all absent, except the priest 
and a servant or two; so that the honeysuckles, lilacs, and sy- 
ringas, are all our own. 

We are well, and our united love attends yourselves and the 
young ladies. 

Yours, my dear friend, 

With much affection, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, June 35, ir85. 

A note thai we received fiom Mr. Scott, by your desire, 
informing us of the amendment of Mrs. Newton's health, de- 
mands our thanks, having relieved us from no little anxiety 
upon her account. The welcome purport of it was soon after 
confirmed by Sally Johnson, so that, at present, we feel our- 
selves at liberty to hope that by this time Mrs. Newton's reco- 
covery is complete. Sally's looks do credit to the air of llox- 
ton. She seems to have lost nothing, either in complexion or 
dimensions, by her removal hence ; and, which is still more to 
the credit of your great town, she seems in spiritual things 
also, to be the very same Sally whom w^e knew once at Olney. 
Situation therefore is nothing. They who have the means of 
grace, and an art to use them, will thrive any where ; others 
no where. More than a few, who were formerly ornaments 
of this garden which you once watered, here flourished, and 
here have seemed to wither. Others, transplanted into a soil 
apparently less favourable to their growth, either find the ex- 
change an advantage, or at least are not impaired by it. 01 



WILLIAM COWPER. 215 

myself, who had once both leaves and fruit, but who have now 
neither, I say nothing; or only this, — That when I am over- 
whelmed with despair, I repine at my barrenness, and think it 
hard to be thus blighted ; but when a glimpse of hope breaks 
in upon me, I am contented to be the sapless thing I a;n, know- 
ing that He who has commanded me to wither, can command 
me to flourish again, when He pleases. My experiences, how- 
ever, of this latter kind, are rare and transient. The light that 
reaches me cannot be compared either to that of the sun or of 
the moon. It is a flasli in a dark night, during which the hea- 
vens seem opened only to shut again. 

We enquired, but could not learn, that any thing memorable 
passed in the last moments of poor Nathan. I listened in expec- 
tation that he would at least acknowledge what all who knew 
him in his more lively days had so long seen and lamented, his 
neglect of the best things, and his eager pursuit of riches. But 
he was totally silent upon that subject. Yet it was evident that 
the cares of this world had choked in him much of the grood 
seed, and that he was no longer the Nathan whom we have so 
often heard at the old house, rich in spirit, though poor in ex- 
pression ; whose desires were unutterable in every sense, both 
because they were too big for language, and because Nathan 
had no language for them. I believe with you, however, that 
Jie is safe at home. He had a weak head and strong passions, 
which He who made him well knew, and for which He would 
undoubtedly make great allowance. The forgiveness of God is 
large and absolute ; so large, that though in general He calls for 
confession of our sins. He sometimes dispenses with that pre- 
liminary, and will not suffer even the delinquent himself to 
mention his transgression. He has so forgiven it, that He seems 
to have forgotten it too, and will have the sinner to forget it 



UK) ("OKKF.FsroNnKNTE Ol 

also. Such instances perhaps, may nol l)o comnion, but I know 
that thorc h.ivc hron suoh, ami it might be so with Nathan. 

1 know not what .lohnjon is about, neitlier ilo I now enquire. 
It will he a nuMilh to-niorrow since I rcttnned him the last proof. 
He mis;ht, 1 suppose, have puhlishcil by t!us time, without hur- 
rying himscll" into a fever, or hivakinu; his ru^ck through tin 
violence ot' his dispatch. Hut having never seen the book ad- 
vertised. I conclude that he has not. Had the parliament risen 
at the usual timo, he would have been just too late, and though 
it sits longiM' tJ\an usual, or is likely to tio so, I siiould not won- 
der it^ he were too late at last. Dr. ,K"»hnson laughs at Savage 
for charging the still-birth of a poem of his upon the bookseller'-^ 
delay ; yet when Dr. .Tohnson had a poem of his own to publish 
no man ever disco\T»x\l more anxiety to meet the market. Ikit 
1 have taken thought about it, till I am grown weary of the 
subject, .ind at last have placed myself much at my ease upon 
the cushion of this one jvsolution : that if ever 1 have dealings 
hereafter with my pi-csent manager, we will proceed upon other 
terms. 

ISIr. Wright called here last Sunday, by whom Lonl Dart- 
mouth made obliging enquiries after the volume, and w;vs pleas- 
ed to s;»y that he was impatient to see it. I told him that 1 had 
onleiTd ,1 cojiy to his Lordship, wl.ich 1 hojKHl he would re- 
ceive, if not six>n, at least befoiv he should retire into the coun- 
try. I have also ordered one to Mr. Harham. 

Wc sutler in this country very much by drouglit. The corn. 
I believe, is in most places thin, and the hay harvest amounts in 
some to not more than the llfih of a crop. Heavy taxe^, cxces- 
5i\-e levies for the ]K»or, and lean acres, have brought our far- 
mei-s almost to their wits' eiul : and many, who aiv not tarmers, 
»re not very ren>ote from the same jwint of despondency. I do 
nol des|X)nd. because T was never much addictcvi to anxious 



WILLIAM COWPEU. • ji; 

thoiia;h(s about the future, in respect of temporals. But I feel 
myself a little angry with a minister, who, when he imposed a 
tax upon a;lovcs, was not ashamed to call them a luxury. Caps 
and boots lined with fur, are not accounted a luxury in Russia, 
neither can gloves be reasonably deemed such in a climate 
sonietimes hardly less severe than that. Nature, indeed, is con- 
tent with little, and luxury seems, in some resj)ect, rather rela- 
tive, than of a fixed construction. Accordingly it may become, 
in time, a luxury for an Englishman to wear breeches, because 
it is possible to exist without them, and because persons of a 
moderate income may find them too expensive. I hope, how- 
ever, to be hid in the dust before that day shall come ; for hav- 
ing worn them so many years, if they be indeed a luxury, they 
are such a one as I could very ill spare ; yet spare them I must, 
if I cannot afford to wear them. 

We arc tolerably well in health, and as to spirits, much as 
usual — seldom better, sometimes worse. 

Yours, my dear friend, affectionately, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, July 9, 1785. 

You wrong your own judgment when you represent it 
as not to be trusted ; and mine, if you suppose that I have that 
opinion of it. Had you disapproved, I should have been hurt 
and mortified. No man's disapprobation would have hurt me 
more. Your favourable sentiments of my book must conse- 
quently give me pleasure in the same proportion. By the post, 
last Sunday, I had a letter from Lord Dartmouth, in which he 
thanked me for my volume, of which he had read only a jjart 

E e 



318 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

Of tlial part, however, he expresses himself in terms with which 
my autliorship has abundant cause to be satisfied ; and adds, 
that the specimen has made him impatient for the whole. I 
have likewise received a letter from a judicious friend of mine 
in London, and a man of fine taste, unknown to you, who speaks 
of it in the same language. Fortified by these cordials, I feel 
myself qualified to face the world without much anxiety, and 
delivered in a great measure from those fears which, I suppose, 
all men feel upon the like occasion. 

My first volume I sent, as you may remember, to the Lord 
Chancellor, accompanied by a friendly but respectful epistle. 
His Lordship, however, thought it not worth his while to re- 
turn me any answer, or to take the least notice of my present. 
I sent it also to Colman, manager of the Haymarket theatre, 
Avith whom I once was intimate. He likewise proved too great 
a man to recollect me ; and though he has published since, did 
not account it necessary to return the compliment. I have al- 
lowed myself to be a little pleased with an opportunity to show 
them that I resent their treatment of me, and have sent this 
book to neither of them. They, indeed, are the former friends 
to whom I particularly allude in my epistle to Mr. Hill ; and it 
is possible that they may take to themselves a censure that they 
so well deserve. If not, it matters not ; for I shall never have 
any communication with them hereafter. 

If Mr. Bates has found it diflicult to furnish you with a motto 
to your volumes, I have no reason to imagine that I shall do it 
easily. I shall not leave my books unransacked ; but there is 
something so new and peculiar in the occasion that suggested 
your subject, that I question whether, in all the classics, can be 
found a sentence suited to it. Our sins and follies, in this coun- 
try, assume a shape that Heathen writei's had never any oppor- 
tunity to notice. They deified the dead, indeed, but not in the 



WILLIAM COWPER. ojg 

Temple of Jupiter. The new-made god had an altar of his 
own ; and they conducted the ceremony without sacrilege or 
confusion. It is possible, however, and I think barely so, that 
somewhat may occur susceptible of accommodation to your pur- 
pose; and if it should, I shall be happy to sei've you with it. 

I told you, I believe, that the spinney has been cut down; 
and, though it may seem sufficient to have mentioned such an 
occurrence once, 1 cannot help recurring to the melancholy 
theme. Last night, at near nine o'clock, we entered it for the 
first time this summer. We had not walked many yards in it, 
before we perceived that this pleasant retreat is destined never 
to be a pleasant retreat again. In one more year, the whole 
will be a thicket. That which was once the serpentine walk is 
now in a state of transformation, and is already become as woody 
as the rest. Poplars and elms without number are springing in 
the turf. They are now as high as the knee. Before the sum- 
mer is ended, they will be twice as high ; and the growth of 
another season will make them trees. It will then be impossi- 
ble for any but a sportsman and his dog to penetrate it. The 
desolation of the whole scene is such, that it sunk our spirits. 
The ponds are dry. The circular one, in front of the hermi- 
tage, is filled with flags and rushes ; so that if it contains any 
water, not a drop is visible. The weeping willow at the side 
of it, the only ornamental plant that has escaped the axe, is 
dead. The ivy and the moss, with which the hermitage was 
lined, are torn away ; and the very mats that covered the benches 
have been stripped off, rent in tatters, and trodden under foot. 
So farewell, spinney ; I have promised myself that I will never 
enter it again. We have both prayed in it : you for me, and I 
for you. But it is desecrated from this time forth, and the 
voice of prayer will be heard in it no more. The fate of it in 
'his respect, however deplorable, is not peculiar. The spot 



320 COKKESPONDENCE OF 

where Jacob anointed his pillar, and, which is more apposite, 
the spot once honoured with the presence of Him who dwelt 
in the bush, have lonjj; since suffered similar disgrace, and are 
become common ground. 

There is great severity in the application of the text you 
mention — I am their jnusic. But it is not the worse for that. 
We both approve it highly. The other in Ezekiel does not 
seem quite so pat. The prophet complains that his word v^'as 
to the people like a pleasant song;, heard with delight, but soon 
forgotten. At the commemoration, I suppose that the word is 
nothing, but the music all in all. The BiJile, however, will 
abundantly supply you with applicable passages. All passages, 
indeed, that animadvert upon the profanation of God's house 
and worship, seem to present themselves upon the occasion. 

Accept our love and best wishes ; and believe me, my dear 
friend, with warm and ti'ue aflfection. 

Yours, 

W. C 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAU FRIEND, August 6, 1785, 

I found your account of what you experienced in your 
state of maiden authorship very entertaining, because very na- 
tural. I suppose that no man ever made his first sally from the 
press without a conviction that all eyes and ears would be en- 
gaged to attend him ; at least, without a thousand anxieties lest 
they should not. But, however arduous and interesting such 
an enterprise may be in the first instance, it seems to nie that 
our feelings on the occasion soon become obtuse. I can answer, 
at least, for one. Mine are by no means what they were when 



WILLIAM COVVPEtt. 321 

I published my first volume. 1 am even so indifterent to the 
matter, that I can truly assert myself guiltless of the very idea 
of my book sometimes whole days together. God knows that 
my mind having been occupied more than twelve years in the 
contemplation of the most distressing subjects, the world and 
its opinion of what I write, is become as unimportant to me as 
the whistling of a bird in a bush. Despair made amusement 
necessary, and I found poetry the most agreeable amusement. 
Had I not endeavoured to perform my best, it would not have 
amused me at all. The mere blotting of so much paper would 
have been but indifferent sport. God gave me grace also to 
wish that I might not write in vain. Accordingly, I iiave min- 
gled much truth with much trifle ; and such truths as deserved, 
at least, to be clad as well and as handsomely as I could clothe 
them. If the world approve me not, so much the worse for 
them, but not for me. I have only endeavoured to serve them, 
and the loss will be their own. And as to their commenda- 
tions, if I should chance to win them, I feel myself equally 
invulnerable there. The view that I have had of myself, for 
many years, has been so truly humiliating, that I think the 
praises of all mankind could not hurt me. God knows that I 
speak my present sense of the matter at least most truly, when 
I say, that the admiration of creatures like myself seems to me 
a weapon the least dangerous that my worst enemy could em- 
ploy against me. I am fortified against it by such solidity of 
real self-abasement, that I deceive myself most egregiously if 
I do not heartily despise it. Praise belongeth to God ; and I 
seem to myself to covet it no more than I covet divine ho- 
nours. Could I assuredly hope that God would at last deliver 
me, I should have reason to thank him for all that I have suffer- 
ed, were it only for the sake of this single fruit of my afflic- 
tion, — that it has taught me how much more contemptible I am 



• 



222 CORUESPONOENCE OF 

in myself than I ever before suspected, and has reduced my 
former share of self-knowledge (of which at that time I had u 
tolerable good opinion) to a mere nullity, in comparison with 
what I have acquired since. Self is a subject of inscrutable 
misery and mischief, and can never be studied to so much ad- 
vanta2;e as in the dark : for as the bright beams of the sun seem 
to impart a beaut}' to the foulest objects, and can make even a 
dunghill smile, so the light of God's countenance, vouchsafed 
to a fallen creature, so sweetens him and softens him for the 
lime, that he seems, both to others and to himself, to have no- 
thing savage or sordid about him. But the heart is a nest of 
serpents, and will be such while it continues to beat. If God 
cover the mouth of that nest with his hand, they are hush and 
snug; but if he withdraw his hand, the whole family lift up 
their heads and hiss, and are as active and venomous as ever. 
This I always professed to believe from the time that I had em- 
braced the truth, but never knew it as I know it now. To 
what end I have been made to know it as i do, whether for the 
benefit of others or for my own, or for both, or for neither, 
will appear hereafter. 

What I have written leads me naturally to the mention of a 
matter that I had forgot. I should blame nobody, not even my 
intimate friends, and those who have the most favourable opi- 
nion of me, were they to charge the publication of John Gil- 
pin, at the end of so much solemn and serious truth, to the 
score of the author's vanity ; and to suspect that, however so- 
ber I may be upon pioper occasions, I have yet that itch of 
popularity that would not suffer me to sink my title to a jest 
that had been so successful. But the case is not such. When I 
sent the copy of the Task to Johnson, I desired, indeed, Mr. 
Unwin to ask him the question, whether or not he would 
choose to make it a part of the volume? This I did merely with 



WILLIAM COWPER. 223 

a view to promote the sale of it. Johnson answered, " By all 
means." Some months afterward, he enclosed a note to me in 
one of my packets, in which he expressed a change of mind, 
alleging;, that to print John Gilpin would only be to print what 
had been hackneyed in every magazine, in every shop, and at 
the corner of every street. 1 answered, that I desired to be 
entirely governed by his opinion ; and that if he chose to wave 
it, I should be better pleased with the omission. Nothing more 
passed between us upon the subject, and I concluded that I 
should never have the immortal honour of being generally known 
as the author of John Gilpin. In the last packet, however, 
down came John, very fairly printed, and equipped for public 
appearance. The business having taken this turn, I concluded 
that Johnson had adopted my original thought, that it might 
prove advantageous to the sale ; and as he had had the trouble 
and expense of printing it, I corrected the copy, and let it 
pass. Perhaps, however, neither the book nor the writer may 
be made much more famous by John's good company, than they 
would have been without it ; for the volume has never yet been 
advertised, nor can I learn that Johnson intends it. He fears 
the expense, and the consequence must be prejudicial. Many 
who would purchase will remain uninformed : but I am per- 
fectly content. 

I have considered your motto, and like the purport of it ; 
but the best, because the most laconic manner of it seems to be 
this — 

Ciim talis sis, sis noster ; 

utinam being, in my account of it, unnecessary. 
Yours, my dear friend, most truly, 

W. C, 



824 CORRESPONDEINCE Ot 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



XrV' DEAR FRIEND, Aug. 27, 1785 

1 did very warmly and very sincerely tliank Mr. Bacon 
for his most friendly and obliging letter; but havinaj written 
my acknowledgments in the cover, I suppose that they escaped 
your notice. I should not have contented myself with trans- 
mitting; them through your hands, but should have addressed 
them immediately to himself, but that I foresaw plainly this in- 
convenience : that, in writing to him on such an occasion. I 
must almost unavoidably make self and self's book the subject. 
Therefore it was, as Mrs. Unwin can vouch for me, that 1 de- 
nied myself that pleasure. I place this matter now in the van 
of all that I have to say ; first, that you may not overlook it ; 
secondly, because, it is up|>ermost in my consideration ; and 
thirdly, because I am impatient to be exculpated from the seem- 
ing omission. 

You told me, I think, that you seldom read the papers. In 
our last wc had an extract from Johnson's Diary, or whatever 
else he called it. It is certain that the publisher of it is neither 
much a friend to the cause of religion nor to the author's memory; 
for, by the specimen of it that has reiched us, it seems to con- 
tain only such stuff as has a direct tendency to expose both to 
ridicule. His prayers for the dead, and his minute account of 
the rigour with which he observed church fasts, whether he drank 
tea or coffee, whether with sugar or without, and whether one 
or two dishes of either, are the must important items to be found 
in this childish register of the great Johnson, supreme dictator 
in tlie chair of literature, and almost a driveller in his closet : a 
melancholy witness to testify how much of the wisdom of this 
world mav consist with almost infantine isiuorance of the affairs 



NVIl.I.lAM COWrEU. 22b 

ot" a better. I remember a g-ood man at Huntingdon, who, I 
doubt not, is now with God. and he also kept a Diary. After 
his death, through the neglect or foolish wantonness of his ex- 
ecutors, it came abroad for the amusement of his neighbours. 
All the town saw it, and all the town found it highly diverting. 
It contained much more valuable matter than the poor Doctor's 
Journal seems to do ; but it contained also a faithful record of all 
his deliverances from wind (for he was much troubled with flatu- 
lence), by whatever vent it escaped him ; together with pious 
acknowledgments of the mercy. There is certainly a call for 
gratitude, whatsoever benefit we receive; and it is equally cer- 
tain, that we ought to be humbled under the recollection of our 
least offences : but it would have been as well if neither my old 
friend had recorded his eructations, nor the Doctor his dishes of 
sugarless tea, or the dinner at which he ate too much. I wonder, 
indeed, that any man of such learned eminence as Johnson, who 
knew that every word he uttered was deemed oracular, and tiiat 
every scratch of his pen was accounted a treasure, should leave 
behind him what he would have blushed to exhibit while he lived. 
If Virgil would have burnt his ^'Eneid, how much more reason 
had these good men to have burnt their Journals. 

Mr. Perry will leave none such behind him. He is dying, 
as I suppose you have heard. Dr. Kerr, who. I think, has visit- 
ed him twice or thrice, desired at his last visit to be no more 
sent for. He pronounced his case iiopeless ; for that his thigh 
and leg would mortify. He is, however, in a most comfortable 
frame of mind. So long as he thought it possible that he might 
recover, he was much occupied with a review of his ministry ; 
and under a deep impression of his deficiencies in that function, 

assured Mr. R that he intended, when he should enter upon 

it again, to be much more diligent than he had been. He was 
conscious, he said, that many fine things had lieen said of him : 

V r 



ii(, CHRRFSPOMIENCE OK 

but ihni. thous;h he tnistctl he hatl fouiui jpraw "^o to walk as not 
to dishonotir his oftioo. he was conscious, at the same lime, how 
little he deserxxxl them. This, with much more to the s;imc 

purport, p;«sscd on Sunday last. On Thursday, ^t^. R 

was with him »«»ain ; and at that lime Mr. Perry kiM?w liui he 
must die. The ndes ami cautions that he had before prescribed 
to himself, he then addresseil direetly to his visitor. He ex- 
hortetl him, by ail means, to l>e earnest and ad'ectionate in his 
.ipplicalions to the unconverteil, and no^less solicitous to admo- 
nish the careless, with a head full of lisjht. and a heart alienated 
from the ways of God : and those, no less, who beini; wise in 
their own conceit, weiv much oreupieil in matters abo\-e th«r 
rvach. and v*ery little with subjects of immeiliate and necessary 
concern. He atlded. that he had rvceiwd l'n>m ln)d,durina: his 
illness, other views of sin than he had ever been favoured with 
before : and exhorted him by all means to be watchful. Mr. 

R lx>ins: himself Uie reporter of these conversations, it is 

to be supposed th.nt they impressevl him. Admonitions from 
such li(>s, and in a dyin^; time too, must ha>*e their weight : and 
it is well with the he;»ivr. when the instrtiction abides with him. 
But our own view of these matters is, I believe, that alone which 
can eflectually serx^e us. The n^presentalioos ol" a dying man 
mav strike us at the time: and, if they stir up in us a spirit oi 
sell-cxdmination and enquiry, so that we rest not till we have 
made his views and experience our own, it is well ; otherwise, 
the w ind that passes us is hardly sooner gone, than the edect ot 
the most serious exhortations. 

Farewell, my friend. My views of my spiritual state are, as 
you say. altereil ; but tbey are yet far from being sudi as they 
must be, beibre I can be euduringly comforted. 

Vouns un£ugnedly. 



WILLIAM COWPEU. 



TO THE KEV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAR FRIEXn. Sept. T^, i:S3. 

I am sorry tliat aa excursion, which you would otherwise 
have found so agreeable, was attended with so great a drawback 
upon its pleasures as Miss Cunningliam's iUness must needs have 
l>een. Had she been able to bathe in the sea, it might have been 
of service to her, but I knew her we.;>kness and delicacj' oi" habit 
to be such as did not encourage any very sanguine hopes that 
the regimen would suit her. 1 remember Southampton well, 
having spent much time there; but though I was young, and 
had no objections on the score of conscience either to dancing 
or cards. I never was in tlie assembly-room in my hie. I never 
was fond of company, and especially disliked it in the country. 
A walk to Neiley Abbey, or to Freemantle. or to Redbridge,or 
a book by the tii^e-side, had always more charms tor me tlian 
any other amusement that the place afforded. I was also a sailor, 
and being of Sir Thomas Hesketh's party, who was himself 
born one. was otten pressed into the service. But thougli I gave 
myself an air and wore trowsei's. 1 had no genuine right to that 
honour, disliking much to be occupied in great watei"s, unless 
in the linesl weather. How they continue to elude the weari- 
someness that attends a sea-lite, who take long voyages, you 
know better than I ; but tor my own part, I seldom have sailed 
so far as Irom Hampton river to Portsmoutli, without teeling 
the continemcut irksome, and sometimes to a degi*ee that was 
almost insupportable. There is a certain perverseness, of which 
I believe all men have a shai-e, but of which no man has a largei' 
share than 1 — 1 mean that temper, or humour, or whatever it is 
to be called, that indisposes us to a situation, though not unplea- 
sant in itself, merely because we cannot sret out of it. I could 



228 COURESPONDENCE OF 

not endure the room in which I now write, were I conscious 
that tlic door were locked. In less than five minutes I should 
feel myself a prisoner, though I can spend hours in it, under an 
assurance that I mnj' leave it when I please, without experienc- 
ing any tedium at all. It was for this reason, I suppose, that the 
yacht was always disagreeable to me. Could I have stepped out 
of it into a corn-field or a garden, I should have liked it well 
enough ; but being surrounded with water, I was as much con- 
fined in it as if I had been surrounded by fire, and did not find 
that it made me any adequate compensation for such an abridge- 
ment of my liberty. I make little doubt but Noah was glad 
when he was enlarged from the ark ; and we are sure that Jonah 
was, when he came out of the fish. ; and so was I to escape from 
the good sloop the Harriet. 

In my last, I wrote you word that Mr. Perry was given over 
by his friends, and pronounced a dead man by his physician. 
. Just when I had reached the end of the foregoing paragraph, 
he came in. His errand hither was to bring two letters, which 
I enclose; one is to yourself, in which he will give you, I doubt 
not, such an account both of his body and mind, as will make 
all that I might say upon those subjects superfluous. The only 
eonsequences of his illness seem to be, that he looks a little pale, 
.ind tiiat though always a most excellent man, he is still more 
angelic than he was. Illness sanctified is better than health. 
But I know a man who has been a sufferer by a worse illness 
than his, almost these fourteen years, and wlio at present is only 
the worse for it. 

Mr. Scott called upon us yesterday ; he is much inclined to 
set up a Sunday school, if lie can raise a fund for the purpose. 
Mr. Jones has had one some time at Clifton, and Mr. Unwin 
writes me word that he has been thinking of nothing else day 
and nig;ht, for a fortnight. It is a wholesome measure, that 



WILLIAM COWPER. 229 

seems to bid fair to be pretty generally adopted, and, for the 
good effects that it promises, deserves well to be so. I know 
not, indeed, while the spread of the gospel continues so limited 
as it is, how a reformation of manners, in the lower class of 
mankind, can be brought to pass ; or by what other means the 
litter abolition of all principle among them, moral as well as 
religious, can possibly be prevented. Heathenish parents can 
only bring up heathenish children ; an assertion nowhere oftener 
or more clearly illustrated than at Olney ; where children, seven 
years of age, infest the streets every evening with curses and 
with songs, to which it would be unseemly to give their proper 
epithet. Such urchins as these could not be so diabolically ac- 
complished, unless by the connivance of their parents. It is 
well, indeed, if in some instances their parents be not them- 
selves their instructors. Judging by their proficiency, one can 
hardly suppose any other. It is, therefore, doubtless an act of 
the greatest charity, to snatch them out of such hands, before 
the inveteracy of the evil shall have made it desperate. Mr. 
Teedon, I should imagine, will be employed as a teacher, should 
this expedient be carried into effect. I know not, at least, that 
we have any other person among us so well qualified for the 
service. He is indisputably a Christian man, and miserably 
poor, whose revenues need improvement, as much as any chil- 
dren in the world can possibly need instruction. 
Believe me, my dear friend, 

With true affection, yours, 

W. C. 



230 CORRESPONDENCE 01 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 



MY DEAR SIR, Oct. 11, 1785. 

You besjan your letter with an apology for long silence, 
and it is now incumbent upon me to do the same ; and the rather, 
as your kind invitation to Wargrave entitled you to a speedier 
answer. The truth is, that I am become, if not a man of busi- 
ness, yet a busy man, and have been engaged almost this twelve- 
month in a work that will allow of no long interruption. On 
this account it was impossible for me to accept your obliging 
summons; and having only to tell you that I could not, it ap- 
peared to me as a matter of no great moment, whether you re- 
ceived that intelligence soon or late. 

You do me justice, when you ascribe my printed epistle to 
you, to my friendship for you ; though, in fact, it was equally 
owing to the opinion that I have of yours for me. Having, in 
one part or other of my two volumes, distinguished by name 
the majority of those few for whom I entertain a friendship, it 
seemed to me that it would be unjustifiable negligence to omit 
yourself; and if I look that step without communicating to you 
my intention, it was only to gratify myself the more, with 
the hope of surprising you agreeably. Poets are dangerous 
persons to be acquainted with, especially if a man have that in 
his character that promises to shine in verse. To that very 
circumstance it is owing, thnt yi»u are now figuring away in 
mine. For, notwithstanding what you say on the subject of 
honesty and friendship, that they arc not splendid enough for 
public celebration, I must still think of them as I did before, 
— that there arc no qualities of the mind and heart that can de- 
serve it better. I can, at least for my own part, look round 
about upon the generality, and, while I see them deficient in 



WILLIAM COWPER. 231 

those a^rand requisites of a respectable character, am not able to 
discover that they possess any other, of value enough to atone 
for the want of them. 

1 bee: that you will present my respects to Mrs. Hill, and 
believe me 

Ever affectionately yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 16, 1785. 

To have sent a child to heaven is a great honour and a 
great blessing, and your feelings on such an occasion may well 
be such as render you rather an object of congratulation than 
of condolence. And were it otherwise, yet, having yourself 
free access to all the sources of genuine consolation, I feel that 
it would belittle better than impertinence in me to suggest any. 
An escape from a life of suffering to a life of happiness and 
glory, is such a deliverance as leaves no room for the sorrow of 
survivors, unless they sorrow for themselves. We cannot, in- 
deed, lose what we love without regretting it ; but a Christian 
is in possession of such alleviations of that regret, as the world 
knows nothing of. Their beloveds, when they die, go they 
know not whither; and if they suppose them, as they general- 
ly do, in a state of happiness, they have yet but an indifferent 
prospect of joining them in that state hereafter. But it is not 
so with you. You both know whither your beloved is gone, 
and you know that you shall follow her ; and you know also 
that in the mean time she is incomparably happier than your- 
self. So far, therefore, as she is concerned, nothing has come 
to pass but what was most fervently to be wished. I do not 



\IS2 rORHESrONDENCK Ol 

know tliat 1 am sinsjiilarlv soHisli ; but one of the lirst thous^hb 
that your account ol" Miss Cunninscham's tlyinsj moments and 
departure sus;geslcil to mc, had self for its object. It struck 
me that she was not born wlicn 1 sank into darkness, anti tliat 
she is gone to heaven before I have emeraied ajrain. What a 
lot, said I to myself, is mine! whose helmet is fallen from my 
head, and whose sword from my hand, in the midst of the 
battle ; who was stricken down to the earth when 1 least expect- 
ed it ; who had just begun to cry victory ! when I was deleat- 
ed mvself; and who have been trampled upon so long, that 
others have hail time to conquer and to receive their crown, 
before I have been able to make one successAd eflbrt to escape 
from under the feet of mj' enemies. It seemed to me, there- 
fore, that if you mourned for JMiss Cunningham, you gave 
those tears to her to which I only had a right, and I was almost 
ready to exclaim, " I am the dead, and not she; you misplace 
your sorrows." — I have sent you the history of my mind on 
this subject without any disguise; if it does not please you. 
pardon it at least, for it is the truth. The unhappy, I l)elieve, 
are always selfish. I have. I confess, my comfortable moments; 
but they are like the morning dew, so suddenly do they |)ass 
away and are gone. 

It should seem a matter of small iiUMin ni lu uir. who nevti 
heai" him, whether Mr. Scolt shall be removed Irum Olney to 
the Lock, or no ; yet, in taoi, 1 believe that lew interest them- 
selves more in that event than 1. He knows my manner of 
life, and has ceased long since to wonder at it. A new minister 
would need information, and 1 am not ambitious of having my 
tale told to a stranger. He would also, perhaps, think it neces- 
sary to assail me with ai^uments, which would be more pix)fu- 
ably disposed of, if he should discharge them against the walls 
of a tower. 1 wish, therefore, for the continuance of M'- 



WILLIAM COWPEH. 233 

Scott. He honoured me so Tar as to consult me twice upon the 
subject. At our first interview, he seemed to discern but little 
in the proposal that entitled it to his approbation. But when 
he came the second time, we observed that his views of it were 
considerably altered. He was warm — he was animated ; diffi- 
culties had disappeared, and allurements had started up in their 
place. I could not say to him, Sir, you are naturally of a san- 
guine temper ; and he that is so, cannot too much distrust his 
own judgment ; — but I am glad that he will have the benefit oC 
yours. It seems to me, however, that the minister who shall 
re-illumine the faded glories of the Lock, must not only prac- 
tise great fidelity in his preaching, to which task Mr. Scott isS 
perfectly equal, but must do it with much address ; and it is; 
hardly worth while to observe, that his excellence does not lie 
that way, because he is ever ready to acknowledge it himself. 
But I have nothing to suggest upon this subject that will be new 
to you, and therefore drop it; the rather, indeed, because I 
may reasonably suppose that by this time the point is decided. 

I have reached that part of my paper which I generally fill 
with intelligence, if I can find any : but there is a great dearth, 
of it at present ; and Mr. Scott has probably anticipated me ii^ 

all the little that there is. Lord P having dismissed Mr. 

Jones from his service, the people of Turvey have burnt him 
[Mr. Jones] in effigy, with a bundle of quick-thorn under his 
arm. What consequences are to follow his dismission, is un- 
certain. His Lordship threatens him with a lawsuit ; and un- 
less their disputes can be settled by arbitration, it is not unlike- 
ly that the profits of poor Jones's stewardship will be melted 
down at Westminster. He has laboured hard, and no doubt 
with great integrity, and has been rewarded with hard words 
and scandalous treatment. 

Mr. Scott (which perhaps he may not have told you, for he 

Gg 



234 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

did not mention it here) has met with similar treatment at a 
place in this country called Hinksey, or by some such name.* 
But he sufl'ered in effigy for the Gospel's sake ; — a cause in 
which I presume he would not be unwilling, if need were, to 
be burnt in propria persona. 

I have nothins: to add, but that we are well, and remember 
you with much aflection ; and that I am, my dear friend, 

Sincerely yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 5, 1785. 

^Vere it with me as in days past, you should have no 
cause to complain of my tardiness in writing. You supposed 
that I would have accepted your packet as an answer to ray last ; 
and so indeed I did, and felt myself overpaid; but though a 
debtor, and deeply indebted too, had not wherewithal to dis- 
charge the arrear. You do not know nor suspect what a con- 
quest I sometimes gain, when I only take up the pen with a 
design to write. Many a time have I resolved to say to all my 
few correspondents, — I take my leave of you for the present; 
if I live to see better days, you shall heai' from me again. — I 
have been driven to the very verge of this measure ; and, even 
upon this occasion, was upon the point of desiring Mrs. Unwin 
to become my substitute. She, indeed, ofl'ered to write in my 
stead ; but fearing that you would understand me to be even 

• The Rev. John Scott, to whom this passage has been communicated, 
informs the Editor, that the name of the place in which his late f »^er ex- 
perienced this treatment was not J/inshtry, but TVwjjcwic*-, ac»r Bucking- 
ham 



WlLUAM CO^\TER. 335 

worse than I am, I nuhov chose to answer for myself. — So 
much for a siibject with which I could easily fill the sheet, but 
witli which 1 have occupied too gi'eat a part of it already. It 
is time that I should thank you, and return you Mrs. Unwinds 
thanks for your Narrative.* I toKl you. in my last, in what 
manner I felt myself atTocted by the abridgment of it contained 
in your letter; and have therefore only to add, upon that point, 
that the impression made upon me by the relation at large was 
of a like kind. I envy all that live in the enjoyment of a good 
hope, and much more alV who die to enjoy the fruit of it : but 
I recollect myself tn time ; I resolved not to touch that chord 
again, and j-et was just going to trespass upon my resolution. 
As to the rest, your history of your happy niece is just what 
it should be, — clear, afl'ectionate, and plain ; worthy of her, 
and worthy of yourself How much more beneficial to the world 
might such a memorial of an unknown, but pious and believ- 
ing child, eventually prove, would the supercilious learned con- 
descend to read it, than the history of all the kings and heroes 
that ever lived ! But the world has its objects of admiration, 
and God has objects of his love. Those make a noise and pe- 
rish ; and these weep silently for a short season, and live for 
ever. I had rather have been your niece, or the writer of her 
story, than any Caesar that ever thundered. 

The vanity of human attainments was never so conspicuously 
eKemplified as in the present day. The sagacious moderns 
make discoveries, which, how useful they may prove to them- 
selves I know not ; certainly they do no honour to the ancients. 
Homer and Virgil have enjoyed (if the dead have any such en- 
joyments) an unrivalled reputation as poets, through a long suc- 
cession of ages : but it is now shrewdly suspected that Homer 

• Authentic Narrative of some remarkable and interesting' particulars in 
the life of • • [Mr. Newton.] 



236 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

did not compose the poems for which he has been so long ap- 
plauded ; and it is even asserted by a certain Robert Heron, 
Esq., tliat Virgil never wrote a line worth reading. He is a 
pitiful plagiary ; he is a servile imitator, a bungler in his plan, 
and has not a thought in his whole work that will bear exami- 
nation. In short, he is any thing but what the literati for two 
thousand years hav^e taken him to be — a man of genius and a 
fine writer. I fear that Homer's case is desperate. After the 
lapse of so many generations, it would be a difficult matter to 
elucidate a question which time and modern ingenuity together 
combine to puzzle. And I suppose that it were in vain for an 
honest plain man to enquire. If Homer did not write the Iliad and 
the Odyssey, who did ? The answer would undoubtedly be — It 
is no matter ; he did not : which is all that I undertook to prove. 
For Virgil, however, there still remains some consolation. The 
very same Mr. Heron, who finds no beauties in the ^Eneid, 
discovers not a single instance of the sublime in Scripture. Par- 
ticularly he says, speaking of the prophets, that Ezekiel, al- 
though the filthiest of all writers, is the best of them. He, 
therefore, being the first of the learned who has reprobated even 
the style of the Scriptures, may possibly make the fewer prose- 
lytes to his judgment of the Heathen writer. For my own part, 
at least, had I been accustomed to doubt whether the iEneid 
were a noble composition or not, this gentleman would at once 
have decided the question for me ; and 1 should have been im- 
mediately assured, that a work must necessarily abound in beau- 
ties that had the happiness to displease a censurer of the Word 
of God. What enterprises will not an inordinate passion for 
feme suggest ? It prompted one man to fire the Temple of Ephe- 
sus ; another, to fling himself into a volcano ; and now has in- 
duced this wicked and unfortunate 'squire either to deny his 



WILLIAM COWPER. 257 

own feelings, or to publish to all the world that he has no feel- 
ings at all.* 

This being the 5th of November, is the worst of all days in 
the year for letter-writing. Continually called upon to remem- 
ber the bonfire, one is apt to forget every thing else. The boys 
at Olney have likewise a very entertaining sport, which com- 
mences annually upon this day. They call it Hockey ; and it 
consists in dashing each other with mud, and the windows also, 
so that I am forced to rise now and then, and to threaten them 
with a horsewhip to preserve our own. We know that the 
Roman boys whipped tops, trundled the hoop, and played at 
tennis ; but I believe we nowhere read that they delighted in 
these filthy aspersions : I am inclined, therefore, to give to the 
slovenly but ingenious youths of Olney full credit for the inven- 

• The plaj'ful spirit in which the writer adverts to this subject appears 
to have yielded afterwards to a feeling of Indignation ; the following lines 
in his own hand-writing having been found by the Editor amongst his pa- 
pers : — 

On the Author of Letters on Literature. 

The Genius of th' Augustan age 
His head among Rome's ruins rear'd. 
And bursting with heroic rage. 
When literary Heron appear'd. 

Thou hast, he cried, like him of old 
Who set th' Ephesian dome on fire. 
By being scandalously bold, 
Attain'd the mark of tliy desire. 

And for traducing Virgil's name 
Shalt share his merited reward ; 
A perpetuity of fame. 
That rots, and stinks, and is abhorr'd. 



238 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

tion. It will be well if the Sunday-school may civilize them 
to a taste for more refined amusements. 

Mr. Jones and Lord P — have parted at last ; and after many 
bickerings, have parted upon amicable terms. Jones having de- 
livered in an honest account, refused to falsify it to the preju- 
dice of his own reputation, and his master threatened him with 
a lawsuit. But fmding him inflexible, and not to be intimidated, 
he gave him his hand, treated him as a friend, and admitted him 
into his confidence. It is well for little folks that great folks 
are apt to be somewhat capricious ; they would otherwise, per- 
haps, be at all times insolent and oppressive alike. 

Mr. Scott is pestered with anonymous letters, but he con- 
ducts himself wisely ; and the question whether he shall go to 
the Lock or not, seems hasting to a decision in the affirmative. 

We are tolerably well ; and Mrs. Unwin adds to mine, her 
affectionate remembrances of yourself and Mrs. Newton. 
Yours, my dear friend, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 7, 1785. 

Your time being so much occupied as to leave you no 
opportunity for a word more than the needful, I am the more 
obliged to you that you have found leisure even for that, and 
thank you for the note above acknowledged. 

I know not at present what subject I could enter upon, by 
which I should not put you to an expense of moments that you 
can ill spare : I have often been displeased when a neighbour of 
mine, being himself an idle man, has delivered himself from the 
burthen of a vacant hour or two, by coming to repose his idle- 



WILUAM COWPER. 039 

iiess upon me. Not to incur, therefore, and deservedly, the 
blame that I have charged upon him, by interrupting; you, who 
are certainly a busy man, whatever may be the case with my- 
self, I shall only add that I am, with my respects to Mrs. Hill, 

Affectionately yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Dec. 3, 1785. 

I am glad to hear that there is such a demand for your 
last Narrative. If I may judge of their general utility by the 
effect that tliey have heretofore had upon me, there are few 
things more edifying than death-bed memoirs. They interest 
every reader, because they speak of a period at which all must 
arrive, and afford a solid ground of encouragement to survivors 
to expect the same, or similar support and comfort, when it shall 
be their turn to die. 

I also am employed in writing narrative, but not so useful. 
Employment, however, and with the pen is, through habit, be- 
come essential to my well-being ; and to produce always origi- 
nal poems, especially of considerable length, is not so easy. 
For some weeks after I had finished the Task, and sent away 
the last sheet corrected, 1 was through necessity idle, and suffer- 
ed not a little in my spirits for being so. One day, being in such 
distress of mind as was hardly supportable, I took up the Iliad ; 
and merely to divert attention, and with no more preconcep- 
tion of what I was then entering upon, than I have at this mo- 
ment of what I shall be doing this day twenty years hence, 
translated the twelve first lines of it. The same necessity press- 
ing me again. I had recourse to the same expedient, and trans- 



240 CORRESPONDENCE 01 

lated more. Every day brinsiins; its occasion for employment 
with it, every day consequently added something to tiic work j 
till at last I began to reflect thus : — The Iliad and the Odyssey 
together consist of about forty thousand verses. To translate 
these forty thousand verses will furnish me with occupation for 
a considerable time. I have already made some progress, and 
I find it a most agreeable amusement. Homer in point of pu- 
rity, is a most blameless writer; and, though he was not an en- 
lightened man, has interspersed many great and valuable trutlis 
throughout both his poems. In short, he is in all respects a most 
venerable old gentleman, by an acquaintance with whom no 
man can disgrace himself. The literati are all agreed to a man. 
that, although Pope has given us two pretty poems under Ho- 
mer's titles, there is not to be found in them the least portion 
of Homer's spirit, nor tlie least resemblance of his manner. I 
will try, therefore, whether I cannot copy him somewhat more 
bappily myself. I have at least the advantage of Pope's faults 
and failings, which, like so many buoys upon a dangerous coast, 
will serve me to steer by, and will make my chance for success 
more probable. These, and many other considerations, but es- 
pecially a mind that abhorred a vacuum as its chief bane, im- 
pelled me so efi'ectually to the work, that ere long I mean to 
publish proposals for a subscription to it, having advanced so 
far as to be warranted in doing so. I have connexions, and no 
few such, by means of which I have the utmost reason to ex- 
pect that a brisk circulation may be procured ; and if it should 
prove a profitable enterprise, the profit will not accrue to a man 
who may be said not to want it. It is a business such as it will 
not, indeed, lie much in your way to promote ; but, among 
your numerous connexions, it is possible that you may know 
some who would sufficiently interest themselves in such a work 
to be not unwilling to subscribe to it. I do not mean — far be it 



WILLIAM COWPER. 24j 

Irom me — to put you upon making hazardous applications, where 
you might possibly incur a refusal, that would give you though 
but a moment's pain. You know best your own opportunities 
and powers in such a cause. If you can do but little, I shall 
esteem it much ; and if you can do nothing, I am sure that it 
will not be for want of a will. 

I have lately had three visits from my old schoolfellow Mr, 
Bagot, a brother of Lord Bagot, and of Mr. Chester of Chiche- 
ley. At his last visit he brought his wife with him, a most 
amiable woman, to see Mrs. Unvvin. I told him my purpose, 
and my progress. He received the news with great pleasure ; 
immediately subscribed a draft of twenty pounds ; and promised 
me his whole heart, and his whole interest, which lies principally 
among people of the first fashion. 

My correspondence has lately also been renewed with my 
dear cousin Lady Hesketh, whom I ever loved as a sister, (for 
we were in a manner brought up together,) and who writes to 
me as affectionately as if she were so. She also enters into my 
views and interests upon this occasion with a warmth that gives 
me great encouragement. The circle of her acquaintance is like- 
wise very extensive ; and I have no doubt that she will exert 
her influence to its utmost possibilities among them. I have 
other strings fo my bow, (perhaps, as a translator of Homer, I 
should say, to my lyre,) which I cannot here enumerate; but, 
upon the whole, my prospect seems promising enough. I have 
not yet consulted Johi son upon the occasion, but intend to do 
it soon. 

My spirits are somewhat better than they were. In the course 
of the last month, I have perceived a very sensible amendment. 
The hope of better days seems again to dawn upon me ; and I 
have now and then an intimation, though slight and transient, 
that God has not abandoned me for ever. 

H h 



342 C UKESPOND 'NCE OF 

Havins: been for some years troubled with an inconvenient 
stomach; and lately, with a stomach that will digest nothing 
without help ; and we having reached the bottom of our own 
medical skill, into which ive have dived to little or no purpose ; 
I have at length consented to consult Dr. Kerr, and expect to 
see him in a day or two. Engaged as I am, and am likely to be, 
so long as I am capable of it, in writing for the press, I cannot 
well afford to entertain a malady that is such an enemy to all 
mental operations. 

This morning is beautiful, and tempts me forth into the gar- 
den. It is all the walk that I can have at this season, but not 
all the exercise. I ring a peal every day upon the dumb-bells. 
I am, my dear friend, most truly. 

Yours and Mrs. Newton's, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Dec. 10, 1785. 

What you say of my last volume gives me the sincerest 
pleasure. I have heard a like favourable report of it from seve- 
ral different quarters, but never any (for obvious reasons) that 
has gratified me more than yours. I have a relish for moderate 
praise, because it bids fair to be judicious ; but praise excessive, 
such as our poor friend 's. (I have an uncle also who cele- 
brates me exactly in the same language ;) — such praise is rather 
too big for an ordinary swallow. I set down nine-tenths of it to 
the account of family partiality. I know no more than you what 
kind of a market my book has found ; but this I believe, that had 
not Henderson died, and had it been worth my while to have 
given him an hundred pounds to have read it in public, it would 



WILLIAM COWPElt. 243 

have been more popular than it is. I am at least very unwilling 
to esteem John Gilpin as better worth than all the rest that I 
have written, and he has been popular enough. 

Your sentiments of Pope's Homer agree perfectly with those 
of every competent judge with whom I have at any time con- 
versed about it. I never saw a copy so unlike the original. 
There is not, I believe, in all the world to be found an uninspir- 
ed poem so simple as those of Homer ; nor in all the world a 
poem more bedizened with ornaments than Pope's translation of 
them. Accordingly, the sublime of Homer in the hands of Pope 
becomes bloated and tumid, and his description tawdry. Neither 
had Pope the faintest conception of those exquisite discrimina- 
tions of character for which Homer is so remarkable. All his 
persons, and equally upon all occasions, speak in an inflated and 
strutting phraseology, as Pope has managed them ; although in 
the original, the dignity of their utterance, even when they are 
most majestic, consists principally in the simplicity of their sen- 
timents and of their language. Another censure I must needs 
pass upon our Anglo-Grecian, out of many that obtrude them- 
selves upon me, but for which I have neither time to spare, nor 
room ; which is, that with all his great abilities he was defective 
in his feelings to a degree that some passages in his own poems 
make it difficult to account for. No writer more pathetic than 
Homer, because none more natural ; and because none less natu- 
ral than Pope in his version of Homer, therefore than he none 
less pathetic. But I shall tire you with a theme with which I 
would not wish to cloy you beforehand. 

If the great change in my experience, of which you express 
so lively an expectation, should take place, and whenever it shall 
take place, you may securely depend upon receiving the first 
notice of it. But whether you come with congratulations, or 
whether without them, I need not say that you and yours will 



444 «. OKUKSrONDKNCK OK 

always iv most woloomo hoix\ Mrs. I'nwin's Io\t both to yonr- 
seiraiul to Mrs. Newton joins itsolt" :\s usunl. and as warmlv as 
usual, to thai of 

Youj's. toy tlear tVioiui, 

Affectionately and taithtully. 

W. C 

The follow injj this nK">ment ocoui"s to nie as a jiossible rnott^ 
tin- t!ie Messiah, if you do not think it too sharp: — 

Nunquam inducunt animum c«nt!ur«, r*gmli : 

/•^/wMf, nunquam dcsistunt. 



10 IHK HF.V. JOHN NKWTON. 

M\ lUAK FKir.M>. Jan. 14, irSd. 

My pix^posals are ahTsdy printeti. I ought rather to 
s;»y, that they are ifady for printing: having near ten days ago 
lYturned the cvMivetion of the proof. But a cousin of mine, and 
one who will. I dare say, be very active in my literary cause, 
(I mean General Cow{>er.> having earnestly recommended it to 
me to annex a sjH»cimen. 1 have acconiingly sent him one, ex- 
traotcil fixun the latter jv-»rt of the last book of the Iliad, and 
consisting of a hundred and seven lines. I chose to extract it 
from that |v\rt of the j>oem. because if the reader should happen 
to find himself content with it, he will naturally be encour«ji;;ed 
by it to hope well of the jwrt precthiing. E\"vry man who can 
do any thing in the translating way is pretty sure to set off with 
spirit; but in works of such a length, tiiere is always danger of 
flagging ntMrjhe close. 

My sul^scriplion, I hope, will be more |X)werfully prt>moted 
th»n svibscriplious j(eoer»lly are. 1 have a irutn and adectioo 



WILLIAM COWPER. 045 

ate friend in Lady Hesketh ; and one equally disposed, and 
even still more able to serve me, in the General above-mention- 
ed. The Bagot family all undertake my cause with ardour; 
and I have several others, of whose abiUty and good-will I 
could not doubt without doiufj; them injustice. It will, how- 
ever, be necessary to bestow yet much time on the revisal of this 
work, for many reasons ; and especially, because he who con- 
lends with Pope upon Homer's ground, can, of all writers, least 
afford to be negligent. 

Mr. Scott brought me as much as he could remember of a 
kind message from Lord Dartmouth ; but it was rather imper- 
fectly delivered. Enough of it, however, came to hand to con- 
yince me that his Lordship takes a friendly interest in my suc- 
cess. When his Lordship and I sat side by side, on the sixth 
form at Westminster, we little thought that in process of time, 
one of us was ordained to give a new translation of Homer. 
Yet, at that very time, it seems, I was laying the foundation of 
this superstructure. 

Much love upon all accounts, to you and yours. 
Adieu, my friend. 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 18, 1786, 

I feel myself truly obliged to you for the leave that you 
give me, to be less frequent in writing, and more brief than 
heretofore. I have a long work upon my hands ; and standing 
engaged to the public, (for by this time I suppose my subscrip- 
tion papers to be gone abroad,) not only for the performance of 
it, but for the performance of it in a reasonable time, it seems 



246 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

necessary to me not to intermit it often. My correspondence 
has also lately been renewed with several of my relations, and 
unavoidably engrosses now and then, one of the few opportu- 
nities that I can find for writing. I nevertheless intend, in the 
exchange of letters with you, to be as regular as I can be, and 
to use, like a friend, the friendly allowance that you have made 
me. 

My reason for giving notice of an Odyssey as well as an 
Iliad, was this : — I feared that the public, being left to doubt 
whether I should ever translate the former, would be unwilling 
to treat vvith me for the latter ; which they would be apt to 
consider as an odd volume, and unworthy to stand upon their 
shelves alone. It is hardly probable, however, that I should 
begin the Odyssey for some months to come, being now close- 
ly engaged in the revisal of my translation of the Iliad, which 
I compare, as I go, most minutely with the original. One of 
the great defects of Pope's translation is, that it is licentious. 
To publish, therefore, a translation, now, that should be at all 
chargeable with the same fault, that were not indeed as close 
and as faithful as possible, would be only actum agere, and had 
therefore better be left undone. Whatever be said of mine when 
it shall appear, it shall never be said that it is not faithful. 

I thank you heartily, both for your wishes and prayers, that 
should a disappointment occur, I may not be too much hurt by 
it. Strange as it may seem to say it, and unwilling as I should 
be to say it to any person less candid than yourself, I will ne- 
vertheless say, that I have not entered on this work, unconnect- 
ed as it must needs appear vvith the interests of the cause of 
God, without the direction of his providence, nor altogether 
unassisted by him in the performance of it. Time will show 
to what it ultimately tends. I am inclined to believe that it has 
a tendency to which 1 myself am, at present, perfectly a stran- 



WILLIAM eOWPEK. 247 

ger. Be that as it may, He knows my frame, and will consi- 
der that I am but dust; dust, into the bargain, that has been so 
trampled under foot and beaten, that a storm, less violent than 
an unsuccessful issue of such a business might occasion, would 
be sufficient to blow me quite away. But I will tell you ho- 
nestly, I have no fears upon the subject. My predecessor has 
given me every advantage. 

As I know not to what end this my present occupation may 
finally lead, so neither diil I know, when I wrote it, or at all 
suspect, one valuable end, at least, that was to be answered by 
the Task. It has pleased God to prosper it ; and being compo- 
sed in blank verse, it is likely to prove as seasonable an intro- 
duction to a blank verse Homer, by the same hand, as any that 
could have been devised ; yet when I wrote the last line of the 
Task, I as little suspected that I should ever engage in a version 
of the old Asiatic tale, as you do now. 

I should choose for your general motto — 

Carmina turn melius, cum venerit ipse, canemus. 

For vol. I. 
Unum pro multis dabitur caput. 

For vol. II. 
Aspice, venture laetentur ut omnia s%cIo. 

It seems to me that you cannot have better than these. 
Yours, my dear friend, 

W. C. 



24d CORRESPONDENCE OJ 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAR FRIEND, April 1, 1786. 

I have made you wait lon^ for an answer, and am now 
obli2;ed to write in a hurry. But lest my lonii;er silence should 
alarm you, hurried as I am, still I write. I told you, if I mis- 
take not, that the circle of my correspondence has lately been 
enlarged ; and it seems still encreasing, which, tog;ether with 
my poetical business, makes an hour a. momentous affair. Pardon 
an unintentional pun. You need not fear for my health. It 
suffers nothinju; by my employment. 

We, who in general see no company, are at present in ex- 
pectation of a great deal ; at least, if three different visits may 
be called so. Mr and Mrs. Powley, in the first place, are pre- 
paring for a journey southward. She is far from well, but thinks 
herself well enough to travel, and feels an affectionate impa- 
tience for another sight of Olney. 

In the next place, we expect, as soon as the season shall turn 
up bright and warm. General Cowper and his son. I have not 
seen him these twenty years and upwards ; but our intercourse 
having been lately revived, is likely to become closer, warmer, 
and more intimate than ever. 

Lady Hesketh also comes down in June ; and if she can be 
accommodated with any thing in the shape of a dwelling at 
Olney, talks of making it always, in part, her summer resi- 
dence. It has pleased God that 1 should, like Joseph, be put 
into a well; and because there are no Midianites in the way to 
deliver me, therefore my friends are coming down into the well 
to see me. 

I wish you, wc both wish you, all happiness in your new 
habitation : at least, you will be sure to find the situation more 



WILLIAM COWPER. 349 

commodious. I thank you for all your hints concerning my 
work, which shall be duly attended to. You may assure all 
whom it may concern, that all offensive elisions will be done 
away. With Mrs. Unwin's love to yourself and Mrs. Newton, 
I remain, my dear friend, affectionately yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, May 20, 1786. 

Within this hour arrived three sets of your new publica- 
tion,* for which we sincerely thank you. We have breakfast- 
ed since they came, and consequently, as you may suppose, 
have neither of us had yet an opportunity to make ourselves 
acquainted with the contents. I shall be happy (and when I 
say that, I mean to be understood in the fullest and most em- 
phatical sense of the word) if my frame of mind shall be such 
as may permit me to study them. But Adam's approach to the 
tree of life, after he had sinned, was not more effectually pro- 
hibited by the flaming sword that turned every way, than mine 
to its great Antetype has been now almost these thirteen years, 
a short mterval of three or four days, which passed about this 
time twelvemonth, alone excepted. For what reason it is that 
I am thus long excluded, if I am ever again to be admitted, is 
known to God only. I can say but this: that if he is still my 
Father, this paternal severity has, toward me, been such as 
that I have reason to account it unexampled. For though others 
have suffered desertion, yet few, I believe, for so long a time, 
and perhaps none a desertion accompanied with such experi- 

* Messiah. 
I i 



250 CORRESrONDKNCK OF 

cnces. But they have this belonging to them : that as they are 
not fit for recital, being made up merely of infernal ingredients, 
so neither are they susceptible of it; for I know no language 
in which they could be expressed. They are as truly things 
which it is not possible for man to utter, as those were which 
Paul heard and saw in the third heaven. If the ladder of Chris- 
tian experience reaches, as I suppose it does, to the very pre- 
sence of God, it has nevertheless its foot in the abyss. And if 
Paul stood, as no doubt he did, in that experience of his to 
which I have just alluded, on the topmost round of it, I have 
been standing, and still stand on the lowest, in this thirteenth 
year that has passed since I descended. In such a situation of 
mind, encompassed by the midnight of absolute despair, and a 
thousand times filled with unspeakable horror, I first commen- 
ced an author. Distress drove me to it; and the impossibility 
of subsisting without some employment, still I'ecommends it. 
I am not, indeed, so perfectly hopeless as I was; but I am 
equally in need of an occupation, being often as much, and 
sometimes even more, worried than ever. I cannot amuse 
myself, as I once could, with carpenters' or with gardeners' 
tools, or with squirrels and guinea-pigs. At that time I was a 
child. But since it has pleased God, whatever else he with- 
holds, to restore to me a man's mind, I have put away cliildish 
things. Thus far, therefore, it is plain that I have not chosen 
or prescribed to myself my own way, but have been providen- 
tially led to it ; perhaps I might say, with equal propriety, 
compelled and scourged into it: for certainly, could I have 
made my choice, or were I permitted to make it even now, 
those hours which I spend in poetry I would spend with God. 
But it is evidently his will that I should spend them as I do, 
because every other way of employing them he himself conti- 
nues to make impossible. If, in the course of such an occupa- 



WILLIAM COWPER. 251 

lion, or by inevitable consequence of it, either my former con- 
nexions are revived, or new ones occur, these things are as 
much a part of the dispensation as the leading points of it 
themselves; the effect, as much as the cause. If his purposes 
in thus directing me are gracious, he will take care to prove 
them such in the issue ; and, in the mean time, will preserve 
me (for he is able to do that in one condition of life as in an- 
other) from all mistakes in conduct that might prove pernicious 
to myself, or give reasonable offence to others. I can say it as 
truly as it was ever spoken,- — Here I am : let him do with me 
as seemeth him good. 

At present, however, I have no connexions, at which either 
you, I trust, or any who love me and wish me well, have occa- 
sion to conceive alarm. Much kindness indeed I have experi- 
enced at the hands of several, some of them near relations, others 
not related to me at all ; but I do not know that there is among 
them a single person from whom I am likely to catch contami- 
nation. I can say of them all, with more truth than Jacob uttered 
when he called kid venison, " The Lord thy God brought them 
unto me." I could shew you among them two men, whose 
lives, though they have but little of what we call evangelical 
light, are ornaments to a Christian country; men who fear God 
more than some who even profess to love him. But I will not 
particularize farther on such a subject. Be they what they may, 
our situations are so distant, and we are likely to meet so seldom, 
that were they, as they are not, persons even of exceptionable 
manners, their manners would have little to do with me. We 
correspond, at present, only on the subject of what passed at 
Troy three thousand years ago; and they are matters that, if 
they can do no good, will at least hurt nobody. 

Your friendship for me, and the proof that I see of it in your 
friendly concern for my welfare on this occasion, demanded that 



252 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

I should be explicit. Assure yourself that I love and honour 
you, as upon all accounts, so especially for the interest that you 
take, and have ever taken in my welfare, most sincerely. I 
wish you all happiness in your new abode, all possible success 
in your ministry, and much fruit of your newly-published la- 
bours ; and am, with Mrs. Unwin's love to yourself and Mrs. 
Newton, 

Most affectionately yours, 

My dear friend, 

W. C. 



TO THE KEY. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, July, 1786. 

I am not glad that I am obliged to apologise for an in- 
terval of three weeks that have elapsed since the receipt of yours; 
but not having it in my power to write oftener than I do, I am 
glad that my reason is such a one as you admit. In truth, my 
time is very much occupied ; and the more because I not only 
have a long and laborious work in hand, for such it would prove 
at any rate, but because I make it a point to bestow my utmost 
attention upon it, and to give it all the finishing that the most 
scrupulous accuracy can command. As soon as breakfast is 
over, I retire to my nutshell of a summer-house, which is my 
verse-manufactory, and here I abide seldom less than three hours, 
and not often more. In the afternoon I return to it again ; and 
all the day-light that follows, except what is devoted to a walk, 
is given to Homer. It is well for me, that a course which is 
now become necessary is so much my choice. The regularity 
of it, indeed, has been in the course of this last week a little in- 
terrupted, by the arrival of my dear cousin Lady Hesketh ; but 



WILLIAM COWPER. 253 

with the new week I shall, as they say, turn over a new leaf, 
and put myself under the same rigorous discipline as before. 
Something, and not a little, is due to the feelings that the sight 
of the kindest relation that ever man was blessed with must 
needs give birth to after so long a separation. But she, whose 
anxiety for my success is, I believe, even greater than my own, 
will take care that I shall not play truant and neglect my proper 
business. It was an observation of a sensible man, whom I knew 
well in ancient days, (I mean when I was very young,) that 
people are never in reality happy when they boast much of being 
so. I feel myself accordingly well content to say, without any 
enlargement on the subject, that an enquirer after happiness 
might travel far, and not find a happier trio, than meet every 
day, either in our parlour, or in the parlour at the Vicarage. I 
will not say that mine is not occasionally somewhat dashed with 
the sable hue of those notions, concerning myself and my situa- 
tion, that have occupied, or rather possessed me so long : but 
on the other hand, I can also affirm, that my Cousin's affectionate 
behaviour to us both, the sweetness of her temper, and the spright- 
liness of her conversation, relieve me in no small degree from 
the presence of them. 

Mrs. Unwin is greatly pleased with your Sermons, and has 
told me so repeatedly ; and the pleasure that they have given her 
awaits me also in due time, as I am well and confidently assured ; 
both because the subject of them is the greatest and the most in- 
teresting that can fall under the pen of any writer, and because 
no writer can be better qualified to discuss it judiciously and 
feelingly than yourself. The third set with which you favoured 
us, we destined to Lady Hesketh ; and in so disposing of them, 
are inclined to believe that we shall not err far from the mark 
at which you yourself directed them. 

Our affectionate remembrances attend yourself and Mrs. New- 



054 couresfoni)i:nce ok 

ton, to which you acquired an everlasting rio^ht while you dwek 
under the roof where we dined yesterday. It is impossible that 
we should set our foot over the threshold of the Vicarage, with- 
out recollecting all your kindness. 

Yours, my dear friend, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Aug. 5, 1786. 

You have heard of our intended removal. The house 
that is to receive us is in a state of preparation, and, when finish- 
ed will be both smarter and more commodious than our present 
abode. But the circumstance that recommends it chiefly is its 
situation. Long confinement in the winter, and indeed for the 
most part in the autumn too, has hurt us both. A gravel walk, 
thirty yards long, affords but indifferent scope to the locomotive 
faculty : yet it is all that we have had to move in for eight 
months in the year, during thirteen years that I have been a 
prisoner. Had I been confined in the Tower, the battlements 
of it would have furnished me with a larger space. You say 
well, that there was a time when I was happy at Olney ; and 
1 am now as haj)py at Olney as I expect to be any where with- 
out the presence of God. Change of situation is with me no 
otherwise an object than as both Mrs. Unwin's health and mine 
may happen to be concerned in it. A fever of the slow and 
spirit-oppressing kind seems to belong to all, except the natives, 
who have dwelt in Olney many years; and the natives have 
putrid fevers. Both they and we, I believe, are immediately 
indebted for our respective maladies to an atmosphere encum- 
bered with raw vapours issuing from flooded meadows; and we 



WILLIAM COWPER. 255 

in particular, perhaps, have fared the worse, for sitting so often, 
and sometimes for months, over a cellar filled with water. 
These ills we shall escape in the uplands ; and as we may rea- 
sonably hope, of course, their consequences. But as for happi- 
ness, he that has once had communion with his Maker must 
be more frantic than ever I was yet, if he can dream of finding 
it at a distance from Him. I no more expect happiness at Wes- 
ton than here, or than I should expect it, in company with fe- 
lons and outlaws, in the hold of a ballast-lighter.- Animal spi- 
rits, however, have their value, and are especially desirable to 
him who is condemned to carry a burthen, which at any rate 
will tire him, but which, without their aid, cannot fail to crush 
him. The dealings of God with me are to myself utterly unin- 
telligible. I have never met, either in books or in conversa- 
tion, with an experience at all similar to my own. More than 
a twelvemonth has passed since I began to hope that, having 
walked the whole breadth of the bottom of this Red Sea, I was 
beginning to climb the opposite shore, and I prepared to sing 
the song of Moses. But I have been disappointed : those hopes 
have been blasted ; those comforts have been wrested from me. 
I could not be so duped, even by the arch-enemy himself, as to 
be made to question the divine nature of them ; but I have been 
made to believe (which, you will say, is being duped still more) 
that God gave them to me in derision, and took them away in 
vengeance. Such, however, is, and has been my persuasion 
many a long day ; and when I shall think on that subject more 
comfortably, or, as you will be inclined to tell me, more ration- 
ally and scripturally, I know not. In the mean time, I embrace 
with alacrity every alleviation of my case, and with the more 
alacrity, because, whatsoever proves a relief of my distress, is a 
cordial to Mrs. Unwin, whose sympathy with me, through the 
whole of it, has been such, that, despair excepted, her burthen 



250 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

has been as heavy as mine. Lady Hesketh, by her affectionate 
behaviour, the cheerfulness of her conversation, and the con- 
stant sweetness of her temper, has cheered us both ; and Mrs. 
Unwin not less than me. By her help we get change of air 
and of scene, though still resident at Olney ; and by her means, 
have intercourse with some families in this country, with whom, 
but for her, we could never have been acquainted. Her pre- 
sence here would, at any time, even in my happiest days, have 
been a comfort to me; but, in the present day, I am doubly 
sensible of its value. She leaves nothing unsaid, nothing un- 
done, that she thinks will be conducive to our well-being ; and, 
so far as she is concerned, I have nothing to wish, but that I 
could believe her sent hither in mercy to myself, — then I should 
be thankful. 

I am, my dear friend, with Mrs. Un win's love to Mrs. N. 
and yourself, hers and yours, as ever, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Sept. 30, 1786. 

No length of separation will ever make us indifferent 
either to your pleasures or your pains. We rejoice that you 
have had so agreeable a jaunt, and (excepting Mrs. Newton's 
terrible fall, from which, however, we are happy to find 
that she received so little injury,) a safe return. We, who live 
always encompassed by rural scenery, can afford to be stationa- 
ry ; though we ourselves, were I not too closely engaged with 
Homer, should perhaps follow your example, and seek a little 
refreshment from variety and change of place, — a course that 
we might find not only agreeable, but, after a sameness of 



WILLIAM COWPER. 057 

thirteen years, perhaps useful. You must, undoubtedly, have 
found your excursion beneficial, who at all other times endure, 
if not so close a confinement as we, yet a more unhealthy one, 
in city air, and in the centre of continual engagements. 

Your letter to Mrs. Unwin, concerning our conduct and the 
offence taken at it in our neighbourhood, gave us both a great 
deal of concern ; and she is still deeply affected by it. Of this 
you may assure yourself, that if our friends in London have been 
grieved, they have been misinformed ; which is the more pro- 
bable, because the bearers of intelligence hence to London are 
not always very scrupulous concerning the truth of their reports ; 
and that if any of our serious neighbours have been astonished, 
they have been so without the smallest real occasion. Poor 
people are never well employed even when they judge one 
another ; but when they undertake to scan the motives and esti- 
mate the behaviour of those whom Providence has exalted a 
little above them, they are utterly out of their province and their 
depth. They often see us get into Lady Hesketh's carriage, 
and rather uncharitably suppose that it always carries us into a 
scene of dissipation, which, in fact, it never does. We visit, 
indeed, at Mr. Throckmorton's, and at Gayhurst; rarely, how- 
ever, at Gayhurst, on account of the greater distance : more 
frequently, though not very frequently, at Weston, both because 
it is nearer, and because our businessinthehousethat is making 
ready for us often calls us that way. The rest of our journej's 
are to Beaujeat turnpike and back again ; or, perhaps, to the cabi- 
net-maker's at Newport. As Othello says. 

The very head and front of my offending 
Hath this extent, no more. 

What good we can get or can do in these visits, is another 

K k 



25& COHRESFONDENCE 01- 

question; which they, I am sure, are not at all qualified to 
solve. Of this we arc both sure, that under the guidance of 
Providence we have formed these connexions ; that we should 
have hurt the Christian cause., rather than have served it, by a 
prudish abstinence from them ; and that St. Paul himself, con- 
ducted to them as we have been, would have found it expedient 
to have done as we have done. It is always impossible to con- 
jecture, to much purpose, from the beginnings of a providence, in 
what it will terminate. If we have neither received nor com- 
municated any spiritual good at present, while conversant with 
our new acquaintance, at least no harm has befallen on either 
side ; and it were too hazardous an assertion even for our cen- 
sorious neighbours to make, that, because the cause of the Gos- 
pel does not appear to have been served at present, therefore it 
never can be in any future intercourse that we may have with 
them. In the mean time I speak a sirict truth, and as in the sight 
of God, when I say that we are neither of us at all more addicted 
to gadding than heretofore. We both naturally love seclusion 
fram company, and never go into it without putting a force up- 
on our disposition; at the same time I will confess, and you will 
easily conceive, that the melancholy incident to such close con- 
finement as we haveso long endured, finds itself a little relieved 
by such amusements as a society so innocent affords. You may 
look round the Christian world, and find few, I believe, of our 
station, who have so little intercourse as we with the world that 
is not Christian. 

We place all the uneasiness that you have felt for us upon this 
subject, to the account of that cordial friendship of which you 
have long given us proof. Jiut you may be assured, that not- 
withstanding all rumours to the contrary, we are exactly what 
we were when you saw us last : — I, miserable on account of 
God's departure from me, which I believe to be final ; and she. 



WILLIAM COWPEK. 059 

seeking his return to me in tiie path of duty, and by continual 
prayer. 

Yours, my dear friend, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAH FRIEND, Weaton Underwood, Nov. 17, 1786. 

My usual time of answering your letters having been 
unavoidably engrossed by occasions that would not be thrust 
aside, I have been obliged to postpone the payment of my debt 
for a whole week. Even now it is not without some difficulty 
that I discharge it ; which you will easily believe, when I tell 
you that this is only the second day that has seen us inhabitant^ 
of our new abode. When God speaks to a chaos, it becomes a 
scene of order and harmony in a moment ; but when his crea- 
tures have thrown one house into confusion by leaving it, and 
another by tumbling themselves and their goods into it, not less 
than many days' labour and contrivance is necessary to give 
them their proper places. And it belongs to furniture of all 
kinds, however convenient it may be in its place, to be a nui- 
sance out of it. We find ourselves here in a comfortable dwell- 
ing. Such it is in itself; and my cousin, who has spared no 
expense in dressing it up for us, has made it a genteel one. 
Such, at least, it will be when its contents are a little harmoniz- 
ed. She left us on Tuesday, and on Wednesday, in the even- 
ing, Mrs. Unwin and I took possession. I could not help giv- 
ing a last look to my old prison and its precincts ; and though 
I cannot easily account for it, having been miserable there so 
many years, felt something like a heart-ache when I took my 
last leave of a scene, that certainly in itself had nothing to en 



260 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

gage affecrion. But 1 recollected that I had once been happy 
there, and could not, without tears in my eyes, bid adieu to a 
place in which God had so often found me. The human mind 
is a great mystery ; mine, at least, appeared to me to be such 
upon this occasion. I found that I not only had a tenderness 
for that ruinous abode, because it had once known me happy in 
the presence of God ; but that even the distress I had suffered 
for so long a time, on account of his absence, had endeared it 
to me as much. I was weary of every object, had long wished 
for a change, yet could not take leave without a pang at parting. 
What consequences are to attend our removal, God only knows. 
I know well that it is not in situation to effect a cure of melan- 
choly like mine. The change, however, has been entirely a 
providential one ; for, much as I wished it, I never uttered that 
wish, except to Mrs. Unvvin. When I learned that the house 
was to be let, and had seen it, I had a strong desire that Lady 
Hesketh should take it for herself, if she should happen to like 
the country. That desire, indeed, is not exactly fulfilled ; and 
yet, upon the whole, is exceeded. We are the tenants ; but she 
assures us that we shall often have her for a guest ; and here is 
room enough for us all. You, I hope, my dear friend, and Mrs. 
Newton, will want no assurances to convince you that you will 
always be received here with the sincerest welcome. More 
welcome than you have been, you cannot be ; but better accom- 
modated you may and will be. 

Adieu, my dear friend. Mrs. Unwin's affectionate remem- 
brances and mine conclude me ever yours, 

W. C. 



WILLIAM COWPER. oQi 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAR FRIEND, Dec. 16, 1786. 

The death of one whom I valued as I did Mr. Ilnwin, 
is a subject on which I could say much, and with much feeling. 
But habituated as my mind has been these many years to me- 
lancholy themes, I am glad to excuse my.self the contemplation 
of them as much as possible. I will only observe, that the 
death of so young a man, whom I so lately saw in good health, 
and whose life was so desirable on every account, has something 
in it peculiarly distressing. I cannot think of tiie widow and 
the children he has left, without ao heart-ache that I remember 
not to have felt before. We may well say, that the ways of 
God are mysterious : in truth they are so, and to a degree that 
only such events can give us any conception of. Mrs. Unwin 
begs me to give her love to you, with thanks for your kind let- 
ter. Her's has been so much a life of affliction, that whatever 
occurs to her in that shape has not, at least, the terrors of no- 
velty to embitter it. She is supported under this, as she has 
been under a thousand others, with a submission of which I 
never saw her deprived for a moment. 

Once, since we left Olney, I had occasion to call at our old 
dwelling ; and never did I see so forlorn and woeful a spectacle. 
Deserted of its inhabitants, it seemed as if it could never be 
dwelt in for ever. The coldness of it, the dreariness, and the 
dirt, made me think it no unapt resemblance of a soul that God 
has forsaken. While he dwelt in it, and manifested himself 
there, he could create his own accommodations, and give it oc- 
casionally the appearance of a palace ; but the moment he with- 
draws, and takes with him all th« furniture and embellishment 
of his graces, it becomes what it was before he entered it — the 



262 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

habitation of vermin, and the image of desolation. Sometimes 
I envy the living, but not much or not long; for while they 
live, as we call it, they are too liable to desertion. But the 
dead who have died in the lord, I envy always; for they, I take 
it for granted, can be no more forsaken. 

This Babylon, however, that we have left behind us, ruinous 
as it is, the ceilings cracked and the walls crumbling, still finds 
some who covet it. A shoemaker and an alemonger, have pro- 
posed themselves as joint candidates to succeed us. Some small 
difference between them and the landlord, on the subject of rent, 
has hitherto kept them out ; but at last they will probably agree. 

In the mean time Mr. R prophesies its fall, and tells them 

that they will occupy it at the hazard of their lives, unless it 
be well propped before they enter it. We have not, therefore, 
left it much too soon ; and this we knew before we migrated, 
though the same prophet would never speak out, so long as only 
our heads were in danger. 

I wish you well through your laborious task of transcribing. 
I hope the good lady's meditations are such as amuse you rather 
more, while you copy them, than meditations in general would ; 
which, for the most part, have appeared to me the most labour- 
ed, insipid, and unnatural of all productions. 

Adieu my dear friend. Our love attends you both. 

Ever yours, 

W. G. 



10 THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAR FRIEND, Jan. 13, 1787. 

It gave me pleasure, such as it was, to learn by a letter from 
Mr. H. Thornton, that the Inscription for the tomb of poor 



WILLIAM COWPETl. 2G3 

Unwin has been approved of. The dead have nothing to do 
with human praises; but if they died in the Lord, they have 
abundant praises to render to him ; which is far better. The 
dead, whatever they leave behind them, have nothing to re- 
gret. Good Christians are the only creatures in the world that 
are truly good ; and them they will see again, and see them im- 
proved : therefore them they regret not. Regret is for the liv- 
ing. What we get. we 'soon lose ; and what we lose, we regret. 
The most obvious consolation in this case seems to be, that we 
who regret others, shall quickly become objects of regret our- 
selves ; for mankind are continually passing off in a rapid suc- 
cession. 

I have many kind friends, who, like yourself, wish that, 
instead of turning my endeavours to a translation of Homer, I 
had proceeded in the way of original poetry. But I can truly 
say that it was ordered otherwise, not by me, but by the Pro- 
vidence that governs all my thoughts, and directs my intentions 
as he pleases. It may seem strange, but it is true, that after 
having written a volume, in general with great ease to myself, 
I found it impossible to write another page. The mind of man 
is not a fountain, but a cistern ; and mine, God knows, a bro- 
ken one. It is my creed, that the intellect depends as much, 
both for the energy and the multitude of its exertions, upon 
the operations of God's agency upon it, as the heart, for the 
exercise of its graces, upon the influence of the Holy Spirit, 
According to this persuasion, I may very reasonably affirm, 
that it was not God's pleasure that I should proceed in the same 
track, because he did not enable me to do it. A whole j^ear I 
waited, and waited in circumstances of mind that made a state 
of non-employment peculiarly irksome to me. I longed for the 
pen, as the only remedy, but I could find no subject: extreme 



264 COURESl^ONDENCE OF 

distress of spirit at last drove me, as, if I mistake not, 1 told 
you some time since, to lay Homer before me, and translate 
for amusement. Why it pleased God that I should be hunted 
into such a business, of such enormous length and labour, by 
miseries for which He did not see good to afford me any other 
remedy, I know not. But so it was ; and jejune as the conso- 
lation may be, and unsuited to the exigencies of a mind that 
once was spiritual, yet a thousand times have I been glad of it: 
for a thousand times it has served at least to divert my attention, 
in some degree, from such terrible tempests as I believe have 
seldom been permitted to beat upon a human mind. Let my 
friends, therefore, who wish me some little measure of tran- 
quillity in the performance of the most turbulent voyage that 
ever Christian mariner made, be contented, that, having Ho- 
mer's mountains an(^ forests to windward, I escape, under 
their shelter, from the force of many a gust that would almost 
overset me ; especially when they consider that, not by choice, 
but by necessity, I make them my refuge. As to fame, and 
honour, and glory, that may be acquired by poetical feats of 
any sort, God knows, that if I could lay me down in my grave 
with hope at my side, or sit with hope at my side in a dungeon 
all the residue of my days, I would cheerfully wave them all. 
For the little fame that I have already earned has never saved mc 
from one distressing night, or from one despairing day, since 1 
first acquired it. For what I am reserved, or to what, is a mys- 
tery; 1 would fain hope, not merely that I may amuse others, 
or only to be a translator of Homer. 

Sally Perry's case has given us much concern. I have no 
doubt that it is distemper. But distresses of mind, that are oc- 
casioned by distemper, are the most difficult of all to deal with. 
They refuse all consolation ; they will hear no reason. God 
only, by his own immediate impressions, can remove them ; 



WILLIAM COWPER. 265 

as, after an experience of thirteen years' misery, I can abun^ 
dantly testify. 

YourS) 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Weston Underwood, Oct. 2, 1787. 

After a long but necessary interruption of our corre- 
spondence, I return to it again, in one respect, at least, better 
qualified for it than before ; I mean by a belief of your identity, 
which for thirteen years I did not believe. The acquisition of 
this light, if light it may be called which leaves me as much in 
the dark as ever on the most interesting subjects, releases me 
however from the disagreeable suspicion that I am addressing 
myself to you as the friend whom I loved and valued so highly 
in my better days, while in fact you are not that friend, but a 
stranger. I can now write to you without seeming to act a 
part, and without having any need to charge myself with dis- 
simulation ; — a charge from which, in that state of mind and 
under such an uncomfortable persuasion, I knew not how to 
exculpate myself, ami which, as you will easily conceive, not 
seldom made my correspondence with you a burthen. Still, 
indeed, it wants, and is likely to want, that best ingredient 
which can alone make it truly pleasant either to myself or you 
— that spirituality which once enlivened all our intercourse. 
You will tell me, no doubt, that the knowledge I have gained 
is an earnest of more and more valuable information, and that 
the dispersion of the clouds in part, promises, in due time, 
their coi.nplete dispersion. I should be happy to believe it; but 
the power to do so is at present far from me. Never was the 

T I 



266 COKKESPONDENCE OF 

mind of man benighted to the degree that mine has been. The 
storms that have assailed me would have overset the faith of 
every man that ever had any; and the very remembrance of 
them, even after they have been long passed by, makes hope 
impossible. 

Mrs. Unwin, whose poor bark is still held together, though 
shattered by being tossed and agitated so long at the side of 
mine, does not forget yours and Mrs. Newton's kindness on this 
last occasion. Mrs. Newton's offer to come to her assistance, 
and your readiness to have rendered us the same service, could 
you have hoped for any salutary effect of your presence, neither 
Mrs. Unwin nor myself undervalue, nor shall presently forget. 
But you judged right when you supposed, that even your com- 
pany would have been no relief to me ; the company of my fa- 
ther or my brother, could they have returned from the dead to 
visit me, would have been none to me. 

We are busied in preparing for the reception of Lady Hes- 
keth, whom we expect here shortly. We have beds to put up, 
and furniture for bods to make ; workmen, and scouring, and 
bustle. Mrs. Unwin's time has, of course, been lately occupied 
to a degree that made writing to her impracticable ; and she 
excused herself the rather, knowing my intentions to take her 
office. It does not, however, suit me to write mucii at a time. 
This last tempest has left my nerves in a worse condition than it 
found them ; my head, especially, though better informed, is 
more infirm than ever. I will, therefore, only add our joint 
love to yourself and Mrs. Newton, and that I am, my dear 

friend. 

Your affectionate 

W. C* 

• This letter was addressed to Mr. Newton, on the writer's recovery fron» 
ail attack of bis grievous constitutional malady, which lasted eight months. 



WILLIAM COWPER. ^67 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 20, 1787. 

My indisposition could not be of a worse kind. Had I 
been afflicted with a fever, or confined by a broken bone, neither 
of these cases would have made it impossible that we should 
meet. I am truly sorry that the impediment was insurmounta- 
ble while it lasted, for such in fact it was. The sight of any 
face, except Mrs. Unvvin's, was to me an insupportable grievance; 
and when it has happened that by forcing himself into my hiding 
place, some friend has found me out, he has had no great cause 
to exult in his success, as Mr. Bull can tell you. From this 
dreadful condition of mind, I emerged suddenly ; so suddenly, 
that Mrs. Unwin, having no notice of such a change herself, 
could give none to any body ; and when it obtained, how long 
it might last, or how far it was to be depended on, was a matter 
of the greatest uncertainty. It affects me on the recollection with 
the more concern, because I learn from your last, that I have not 
only lost an interview with you myself, but have stood in the 
way of visits that you would have gladly paid to others, and who 
would have been happy to have seen you. You should have 
forgotten (but you are not good at forgetting your friends) that 
such a creature as myself existed. 

I rejoice that Mrs. Cowper has been so comfortably supported. 
She must have severely felt the loss of her son. She has an 
affectionate heart toward her children, and could not but be sen- 
sible of the bitterness of such a cup. But God's presence sweet- 
ens every bitter. Desertion is the only evil that a Christian 
cannot bear. 

I have done a deed for which I find some people thank me 
little. Perhaps I have only burned my fingers, and had better 



i»68 COKRESPONUENCE OF 

not have meddled. Last Sunday se'nniaiht, I drew up a petition 
to Lord Dartmouth, in behalf of Mr. Postlethwaite. We signed 
it, and all the principal inhabitants of Weston followed our ex- 
ample. What we had done was soon known in Olney, and an 

evening or two ago, Mr. R called here, to inform me (for 

that seemed to be his errand,) how little the measure that I had 
taken was relished by some of his neighbours. I vindicated my 
proceeding on the principles of justice and mercy to a laborious 
and well-deserving minister, to whom I had the satisfaction to 
find that none could allege one serious objection, and that all, 
except one, who objected at all, are persons who in reality ought 
to have no vote upon such a question. The affair seems still to 
remain undecided. If his Lordship waits, which I a little sus- 
pect, till his steward shall have taken the sense of those with 
whom he is likely to converse upon the subject, and means to 
be determined by his report, Mr. Postleth waiters case is des- 
perate. 

I beg that you will remember me affectionately to Mr. Bacon. 
We rejoice in Mrs. Newton's amended health, and when we can 
hear that she is restored, shall rejoice still more. The next sum- 
mer may prove more propitious to us than the past : if it should, 
we shall be happy to receive you and yours. Mr. Unwin unites 
with me in love to you all three. She is tolerably well, and her 
writing was prevented by nothing but her expectation that I 
should soon do it myself. 

Ever yours, 

W. C. 



WILLIAM COWPEU. 269 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAR FRIEND, Jan. 21, 1788. 

Your last letter informed us that you were likely to be 
much occupied for some time in writing on a subject that must 
be interesting to a person of your feelings — the Slave Trade. I 
was unwilling to interrupt your progress in so good a work, and 
have therefore enjoined myself a longer silence than I should 
otherwise have thought excusable; though, to say the truth, did 
not our once intimate fellowship in the things of God, recur to 
my remembrance, and present me with something like a warrant 
for doing it, I should hardly prevail with myself to write at all. 
Letters, such as mine, to a person of a character such as yours, 
are like snow in harvest ; and you well say, that if I will send 
you a letter that you can answer, I shall make your part of the 
business easier than it is. This I would gladly do ; but though 
I abhor a vacuum as much as nature herself is said to do, yet 
a vacuum I am bound to feel of all such matter as may merit 
your perusal. 

I expected that before this time I should have had the plea- 
sure of seeing your friend Mr. Bean,* but his stay in this coun- 
try was so short, that it was hardly possible he should find an 
opportunity to call. I have not only heard a high character of 
that gentleman from yourself, whose opinion of men, as well as of 
other matters, weighs more with me than any body's ; but from 
two or three different persons likewise, not ill qualified to judge. 
From all that I have heard, both from )"ou and them, I have 
every reason to expect that I shall find him both an agreeable 
and useful neighbour ; and if he can be content with me, (for 

* Fosmerly Vicar of Olney, and now one of tlie Librarians of the British 
Museum. 



270 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

that seems doubtful, poet as I am, and now, alas I nothing 
inore.) it seems certain that I shall be highly satisfied with him. 

Here is much shifting and changing of ministers. Two are 

passing away, and two are stepping into the places. Mr. B , 

I suppose, whom I know not, is almost upon Ihe wing; and Mr. 

P , with whom I have not been very much acquainted, is 

either, going or gone. A Mr. C is come to occupy, for 

the present at least, the place of the former ; and if he can pos- 
sess himself of the two curacies of Ravenstone and Weston, will, 
I imagine, take up his abode here. Having, as 1 understand, 
no engagements elsewhere, he will doubtless be happy to obtain 
a lasting one in this country. What acceptance he finds among 
the people of Ravenstone I have not heard, but atOlney, where 
he has preached once, he was hailed as the Sun by the Green- 
landers after half a year of lamp-light. 

Providence interposed to preserve me from the heaviest afflic- 
tion that I can now suffer, or I had lately lost Mrs. Unwin, and 
in a way the most shocking imaginable. Having kindled her 
fire in the room where she dresses, (an office that she always 
performs for herself,) she placed the candle on the hearth, and 
kneeling addressed herself to her devotions. A thought struck 
her, while thus occupied, that the candle being short might pos- 
sibly catch her clothes. She pinched it out with the tongs, and 
set it on the table. In a few minutes the chamber was so filled 
with smoke, that her eyes watered, and it was hardly possible to 
see across it. Supposing that it proceeded from the chimney, 
she pushed the billets backward, and while she did so, casting 
her eye downward, perceived that her dress was on fire. In 
fact, before she extinguished the candle, the mischief that she ap- 
prehended was begun ; and when she related the matter to me, 
she showed me her clothes with a hole burnt in them as large 
as this sheet of paper. It is not possible, perhaps, that so tragi- 



WILLIAM COWPEH. 271 

cal a death should overtake a person actually engaged in prayer, 
for her escape seems almost a miracle. Her presence of mind, 
by which she was enabled, without calling for help or waiting 
for it, to gather up her clothes and plunge them, burning as they 
were, in water, seems as wonderful a part of the occurrence as 
any. The very report of fire, though distant, has rendered 
hundreds torpid and incapable of self-succour; how much more 
was such a disability to be expected, when the fire had not seized 
a neighbour's house, or begun its devastations on our own, but 
was actually consuming the apparel that she wore, and seemed 
in possession of her person. 

It draws toward supper-time. I therefore heartily wish you 
a good night; and with our best affections to yourself, Mrs. 
Newton, and Miss Catlett, I remain, my dear friend, truly and 
warmly yours, 

W. C. 



TO MRS. KING, 
PERTON HALL, NEAR KIMBOLTON, HUNTS. 

DEAR MADAM, Weston Lodge, Feb. 12, 1788. 

A letter from a lady who was once intimate with my 
brother, could not fail of being the most acceptable to me. I 
lost him just in the moment when those truths which have re- 
commended my volumes to your approbation, were become his 
daily sustenance, as they had long been mine. But the will of 
God was done. I have sometimes thought that had his life been 
spared, being made brothers by a stricter tie than ever in the 
bonds of the same faith,- hope, and love, we should have been 
happier in each other than it was in the power of mere natural 



272 CORRKSPONDENCE OF 

affection to make us. But it was his blessing to be taken from 
a world ^n which he had no longer any wish to continue, and 
it will be mine, it' while I dwell in it, my time may not be alto- 
gether wasted. In order to effect that good end, 1 wrote what 
I am happy to find it has given you pleasure to read. But for that 
pleasure, Madam, you are indebted neither to me nor to my 
Muse ; but (as you are well aware) to Him who alone can make 
divine truths palatable, in whatever vehicle conveyed. It is 
an established philosophical axiom, that nothing can communi- 
cate what it has not in itself; but in the effects of Christian 
communion, a very strong exception is found to this general 
rule, however self-evident it may seem. A man himself desti- 
tute of all spiritual consolation, may, by occasion, impart it to 
others. Thus I, it seems, who wrote those very poems to amuse 
a mind oppressed with melancholy^ and who have myself de- 
rived from them no other benefit, (for mere success in author- 
ship will do me no good,) have nevertheless, by so doing, com- 
forted others, at the same time that they administer to me no 
consolation. But I will proceed no farther in this strain, lest 
my prose should damp a pleasure that my verse has happily ex- 
cited. On the contrary, I will endeavour to rejoice in your 
joy, and especially because I have been myself the instrument 
of conveying it. 

Since the receipt of your obliging letter, I have naturally had 
recourse to my recollection to tr\'^ if it would furnish me with 
the name that I find at the bottom of it. At the same time, I 
am aware that there is nothing more probable than that my 
brother might be honoured with your friendship without men- 
tioning it to me; for except a very short period before his death, 
we lived necessarily at a considerable distance from eacli other. 
Ascribe it, Madam, not to an impertinent curiosity, but to a 



WILLIAM COWPETl. 273 

desire of better acquaintance with you, if I take the liberty to 
ask (since ladies' names, at least, are changeable,) whether yours 
was at that time the same as now. 

Sincerely wishing you all happiness, and especially that which 
I am sure you covet most, the happiness which is from above, 
I remain, dear Madam — early as it may seem to say it, 

Affectionately yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, March 1, 1788. 

That my letters may not be exactly an echo to those 
which I receive, I seldom read a letter immediately before I 
answer it ; trusting to my memory to suggest to me such of its 
contents as may call for particular notice. Thus I dealt with 
your last, which lay in my desk, while I was writing to you. 
But my memory, or rather my recollection, failed me, in that 
instance. I had not forgotten Mr. Bean's letter, nor my oljliga- 
tions to you for the communication of it : but they did not hap- 
pen to present themselves to me, in the proper moment, nor 
till some hours after my own had been dispatched. I now re- 
turn it, with many thanks for so favourable a specimen of its 
author. That he is a good man, and a wise man, its testimony 
proves sufficiently ; and I doubt not, that when he shall speak 
for himself, he will be found an agreeable one. For it is posr 
sible to be very good, and, in many respects, very wise; yet, 
at the same time, not the most delightful companion. Excuse 
the shortness of an occasional scratch, which I send in much 
haste ; and believe me, my dear friend, with our united love to 

M m 



JJ74 COIIKESI'ONUENCE OF 

yourself and Mrs. Newton, of whose health we hope to hear u 
more favourable account, as tlie year rises, 

Your truly afl'ectionate 

w. c. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, March 3, 1788." 

I had not, as you may imagine, read more than two or 
three lines of the enclosed, before I perceived that I had acci- 
dentally come to the possession of another man's property; 
who, by the same misadventure, has doubtless occupied mine. 
I accordingly folded it again the moment after having opened it, 
and now return it. The bells of Olncy both last night and tiiis 
morning have announced the arrival of JVIr. Bean. I under- 
stand that he is now come with his family. It will not be long, 
therefore, before we shall be acquainted. I rather wish than 
hope that he may find himself comfortably situated ; but the 
parishioners' admiration of Mr. C — , whatever the bells may 
say, is no good omen. It is hardly to be expected that the same 
people should admire both. 

1 have lately been engaged in a correspondence with a lady 
whom I never saw. She lives at Perten-Hall, near Kimbolton, 
and is the wife of a Dr. King, who has the living. She is evi- 
dently a Cluistian, and a very gracious one. I would that she 
had you for a correspondent rather than me. One letter from 
you would do her more good than a ream of mine. But so it 
is ; and since I cannot depute my office to you, and am bound 

• The date having been probably written on the latter half of this letter, 
^h\ch is torn oft", the editor has endeavoured to supply it from the follow- 
'"iJ lo Mrs. King, and the next to Mrs. Newton. 



WIM.1AM COWPETt. 275 

by all sorts of considerations to answer her this evening, I must 
necessarily quit you tiiat T may have time to do it, 

W. C. 



TO MRS. KING. 

March 3, 1788. 
I owe you many acknowledgments, dear Madam, for 
that unreserved communication both of your history and oi 
your sentiments, with wiiich you fiwoured me in your last. It 
gives me great pleasure to learn that you are so happily circum- 
stanced, both in respect of situation and frame of mind. With, 
your view of religious subjects, you could not indeed, speaking 
properly, be pronounced unhappy in any circumstances ; but to 
have received from above not only that faith which reconciles 
the heart to atUiction, but many outward comforts also, and es- 
pecially that greatest of all earthly comforts, a comfortable 
home, is happiness indeed. May you long enjoy it! As to 
health or sickness, you have learned already their true value, 
and know well that the former is no blessing, unless it be sanc- 
tified, and that the latter is one of the greatest we can receive, 
when we are enabled to make a proper use of it. 

There is nothing in my story that can possibly be worth your 
knowledge ; yet, lest I should seem to treat you with a reserve 
which, at your hands, I have not experienced, such as it is, I 
will relate it. — I was bred to the law ; a profession to which I 
was never much inclined, and in which I engaged rather be- 
cause I was desirous to gratify a most indulgent father, than be- 
cause 1 had any hope of success in it, myself, I spent twelve 
years in the Temple, where I made no progress in that science, 
to cultivate which I was sent thither. During this time my fa- 



276 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

ther died. Not long after him, died my mother-in-law, and at 
the expiration of it, a melancholy seized me, which ohhged me 
to quit London, and consequently to renounce the bar. I lived 
some time at St. Albans. After having suifered in that place 
long and extreme affliction, the storm was suddenly dispelled, 
and the same day-spring from on high which has arisen upon 
you, arose on me also. I spent eight years in the enjoyment of 
it, and have ever since the expiration of these eight years, been 
occasionally the prey of the same melancholy as at first. In the 
depths of it I wrote the Task, and the volume which preceded 
it ; and in the same deeps 1 am now translating Homer. But 
to return to St. Albans. I abode there a year and a half. Thence 
I went to Cambridge, where I spent a short time with my bro- 
ther, in whose neighbourhood 1 determined, if possible, to 
pass the remainder of my days. He soon found a lodging for 
me at Huntingdon. At that place I had not resided long, when 
1 was led to an intimate connexion with a family of the name 
of Unwin. I soon quitted my lodging, and took up my abode 
with them. I had not lived long under their roof, when Mr. 
Unwin, as he was riding one Sunday morning to his cure at 
Gravely, was thrown from his horse; of which fall he died, 
Mrs. Unwin having the same views of the gospel as myself, 
and being desirous of attending a purer ministration of it than 
was to be found at Huntingdon, removed to Olney, where Mr. 
Newton was at that time the preacher, and I with her. There 
we continued till Mr. Newton, whose family was the only one 
in the place with which we could have a connexion, and with 
whom we lived always on the most intimate terms, left it. "^Af- 
tcr his departure, finding the situation no longer desirable, and 
our house threatening to fall upon our heads, we removed hi- 
ther. Here we have a good house in a most beautiful village, 
and, for the greatest part of the year, a most agreeable neigh- 



' WILLIAM COWPER. 377 

bourhood. Like you, Madam, I stay much at home, and have 
not travelled twenty miles from this place and it^ environs, more 
than once these twenty years. 

All this I have written, not for the singularity of the matter, 
as you will perceive, but partly for the reason which I gave at 
the outset, and partly that, seeing we are become correspon- 
dents, we may know as much of each other as we can, and that 
as soon as possible. 

1 beg. Madam, that you will present my best respects to Mr. 
King, whom, together with yourself, should you at any time 
hereafter take wing for a longer flight than usual, we shall be 
happy to receive at Weston, and believe me, dear Madam, his 
and your obliged and affectionate, 

W. C. 



TO MRS. HILL. 

MY DEAR MADAM, March 17, 1788. 

A thousand thanks to you for your obliging and most 
acceptable present, which I received safe this evening. Had 
you known my occasions, you could not possibly have timed it 
more exactly. The Throckmorton family, who live in our 
neighbourhood, and who sometimes take a dinner with us, were, 
by engagement made with them two or three days ago, appoint- 
ed to dine with us just at the time when your turkey will be in 
perfection. A turkey from Wargrave, the residence of my 
friend, and a turkey, as I conclude, of your breeding, stands a 
fair chance, in my account, to excel all otiier turkeys ; and the 
ham, its companion, will be no less welcome. 

I shall be happy to hear that my friend Joseph has recovered 
entirely from his late indisposition, which I was informed was 



27S CORRESPONDENCE OF 

gout ; a distemper which, however painful in itself, brings at 
least some comfort with it, both for the patient and those who 
love him, the hope of length of days, and an exemption from 
numerous other evils. I wish him just so much of it as may 
serve for a confirmation of this hope, and not one twinge more. 

Your husband, my dear Madam, told me, some time since, 
that a certain library of mine, concerning which I have heard 
no other tidings these five and twenty years, is still in being. 
Hue and cry have been made after it in Old Palace Yard, but 
hitherto in vain. If he can inform a bookless student in what 
region or in what nook his long-lost volumes may be found, he 
will render me an important service. 

I am likely to be furnished soon with shelves, which my 
cousin of New Norfolk-street is about to send me ; but furni- 
ture foi- these shelves 1 shall not presently procure, unless by 
recovering my stray authors. I am not young enougli to think 
of making a new collection, and shall probably possess myself 
of few books hereafter but such as I may put forth myself, which 
cost me nothing but what I can better spare than money — time 
and consideration. 

I beg, my dear Madam, that you will give my love to my 
friend, and believe me, with the warmest sense of his and your 
kindness. 

Your most obliged 

and alfcctionate 

W. C. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 379 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAR PRIEND, March 17, 1788. 

The evening is almost worn away, while I have been 
writing a letter, to which I was obliged to give immediate at- 
tention. An application from a lady, and backed by you, could 
not be less than irresistible. That lady, too, a daughter of Mr. 
Thornton's. Neither are these words of course : since I re- 
turned to Homer in good earnest, I turn out of my way for no 
consideration that I can possibly put aside. 

With modern tunes I am unacquainted, and have therefore 
accommodated my verse to an old one ; not so old, however, 
but that there will be songsters found old enough to remember 
it. The song is an admirable one for which it was made, and, 
though political, nearly, if not quite, as serious as mine. On 
such a subject as I had before me, it seems impossible not to be 
serious. I shall be happy if it meet with your and Lady Bal- 
gonie's approbation. 

Of Mr. Beat! I could say much 5 but have only time at pre- 
sent, to say that I esteem and love him. On some future occa- 
sion I shall speak of him more at large. 

We rejoice that Mrs. Newton is better, and wish nothing 
more than her complete recovery. Dr. Ford is to be pitied. His 
wife, I suppose, is going to heaven ; a journey which she can 
better afford to take, than he to part with her. 

I am, my dear friend, with our united love to you all three, 
most truly yours, 

W. C. 



280 CORRESPONDENCE OF 



TO MRS. KING. 



DEAR MADAM, April 11, 1788. 

The melancholy that 1 have mentioned, and concerning 
which you are so kind as to enquire, is of a kind, so far as I 
know, peculiar to myself. It does not at all affect the opera- 
tions of my mind on any subject to which I can attach it, whe- 
ther serious or ludicrous, or whatsoever it may be ; for which 
reason I am almost always employed either in reading or writ- 
ing when I am not engaged in conversation, A vacant hour is 
my abhorrence ; because, when I am not occupied, I suffer un- 
der the whole influence of my unhappy temperament. I thank 
you for your recommendation of a medicine from which you 
have received benefit yourself; but there is hardly any thing 
that I have not proved, however beneficial it may have been 
found by others, in my own case utterly useless. I have, there- 
fore, long since bid adieu to all hope from human means, — the 
means excepted of perpetual employment. 

I will not "ay that we shall never meet, because it is not for 
a creature, who knows not what shall be to-morrow, to assert 
any thing positively concerning the future. Things more un- 
likely I have yet seen brought to pass, and things which, if I 
had expressed myself of them at all, I should have said were 
impossible. But being respectively circumstanced as we are, 
there seems no present probability of it. You speak of insupe- 
rable hindrances ; and 1 also have hindrancies that would be 
equally difficult to surmount. One is, that I never ride, that I 
am not able to perform a journey on foot, and that chaises do 
not roll within the sphere of that economy which my circum- 
stances oblige me to observe. If this were not of itself sufficieot 
to excuse me, when I decline so obliging an invitation as yours, 



WILLIAM COWPEU. ogx 

I could mention yet other obstacles. But to what end ? One 
impracticability makes as effectual a barrier as a thousand. It 
will be otherwise in other worlds. Either we shall not bear 
about us a body, or it will be more easily transportable than 
this. In the mean time, by the help of tlie post, strangers to 
each other may cease to be such, as you and I have already be- 
gun to experience. 

It is indeed. Madam, as you say, a foolish world, and likely 
to continue such till the Great Teacher shall himself vouchsafe 
to make it wiser. I am persuaded that time alone will never 
mend it. But there is doubtless a day appointed when there 
shall be a more general manifestation of the beauty of holiness 
than mankind have ever yet beheld. When that period shall 
arrive, there will be an end of profane representations, whether 
of Heaven or Hell, on the stage : — the great realities will super- 
sede them. 

I have just discovered that I have written to you on paper 
so transparent, that it will hardly keep the contents a secret. 
Excuse the mistake, and believe me, dear Madam, with my 
respects to Mr. King, 

Affectionately yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE JIEV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, April 19, 1788. 

I thank you for your last, and for the verses in particu- 
lar, therein contained ; in which there is not only rhyme but 
reason. And yet I fear that neither you nor I, with all our 
reasoning and rhyming, shall effect much good in this matter. 
So far as I can learn, and I have had intelligence from a quarter 

N n 



332 COHUESl'ONDENCE 01 

within tI)o reach of such as is respectable, our Governors are noi 
aniinatecl aUogether with such heroic ardour as the occasion 
might inspire. They consult frequently, imiced, in the Cabinet 
about it ; but the frequency of their consultations in a case so 
plain as this would be, (did not what Shakspeare calls commo- 
dity, and what we call political expediency, cast a cloud over 
it,) rather bespeaks a desire to save appearances, than to inter- 
pose to purpose. Laws will, I suppose, be enacted for the more 
humane treatment of the negroes ; but who shall see to the ex- 
ecution of them? The planters will not, and the ne<;roes cannot. 
In fact we know, that laws of this tendency have not been want- 
ing, enacted even amojigst themselves ; but there has been al- 
ways a want of prosecutors, or righteous judges ; deficiencies, 
which will not be very easily supplieil. The newspapers have 
lately told us, that these merciful masters liave, on this occasion, 
been occupied in passing ordinances, by which the lives and 
limbs of their slaves are to be secured from wanton cruelty 
hereafter. But wl)o docs not irnmediately detect the arti^ce, 
or can give them a moment's credit for any thing more than a 
design, bv this show of lenity, to avert the slorm which they 
think hangs over them. On the whole, I fear there is reason to 
wish, for the honour of England, tliat the nuisance had never 
been troubled ; lesl we eventually make ourselves justly charge 
able with the whole oflence by not removing it. The enormity 
cannot be palliated ; we can no longer plead that we were not 
aware of it, or that our attention was ^otherwise engaged ; and 
shall be inexcusable, therefore, ourselves, if we leave the least 
part of it unrei.lrcssed. Such arguments as Pharaoh might iiave 
used, to justify his destruction of tiie Israelites, substituting only 
sugar for bricks, may lie ready for our use also ; but I think we 
can fmd no belter. 

Wc are tolerabl}' well, and shall rejoice to hear that, as the 



WILLIAM COVVPEK. 283 

year rises, Mrs. Newton's health keeps pace with it. Beheve 
me, my dear friend, 

AfTectionately and truly yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE KEY'. WILLIAM BULL. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, May 25, 1788. 

Ask possibilities and they shall be performed, but ask 
not hymns from a man suffering by despair as I do. I could 
not sing the Lord's song were it to save my life, banished as I 
am, not to a strange land, but to a remoteness from his pre- 
sence, in comparison with which the distance from cast to west 
is no distance, is vicinity and cohesion. I dare not, either in 
prose or verse, allow myself to express a frame of mind which. 
1 am conscious does not belong to me ; least of all can I venture 
to use the language of absolute resignation, lest, only counter- 
feiting, I should for that very reason be taken strictly at my 
woi'd, and lose all my remaining comfort. Can there not be 
found among those translations of Madame Guyon, somewhat 
that might serve the purpose? I should think there might. 
Submission to the will of Christ, my memory tells me, is a 
theme that pervades them all. If so, your request is perform- 
ed already ; and if any alteration in them should be necessary, 
I will with all my heart make it. I have no objection to giv- 
ing the graces of the foreigner an PJlnglish dress, but insupera- 
ble ones to all false pretences and affected exhibitions of what I 
do not feel. 

Hoping that you will have the grace to be resigned most per- 
fectly to this disappointment, which you should not have suf- 



284 CORTIRSPONDENCE OF 

fercd, had it Ijccm in my power to prevent it, I remain, with 
our best remembrances to Mr. Thornton, 

Ever affectionately yours, 

w. r 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR rUIENl), June 5, 1788. 

It is a comfort to me that you are so kind as to make al- 
lowance for me, in consideration of my being so busy a man. 
The truth is, that couhl I write with both hands, and with both 
at tlie same time, verse witi) one anil prose with the other, I 
shouU) not even so be able to dispatch both my poetry and my 
arrears of correspondence faster than I have need. The only 
opportunities that I can (ind for conversini; with distant friends, 
are in the early hour (and that sometimes reduced to half a one) 
before breakfast. Neither am 1 exempt from hindrances, which, 
while thcjr last, arc insurmoimtable ; especially one, by which 
1 have been occasionally a sufferer all my life. I mean an in- 
flammation of the eyes ; a malady under wiiich I have lately la- 
boured, and from which I am at this moment only in a small 
degree relieved. The last sudden change of the weather, from 
heat almost insupportable to a cold as severe as is commonly 
felt in mid-winter, would have disabled me entirely for all sorts 
of scribbling, had 1 not favoured the weak part a little, and 
given my eyes a respite. 

It is certain tliat we do not live far from Olney, but, small 
as the distance is, it has too often the etfect of a separation be- 
tween the IJeans and us. He is a man with whom, when I can 
converse at all, I can converse on terms perfectly agreeable to 
myself; who does not distress me with forms, nor yet disgust 



WILLIAM COWPER. 385 

mc by the neglect of Ihcm ; whose manners are easy and natu- 
ral, and his observations always sensible. I often, therefore, 
wish them nearer neighbours. 

We have iieard notliing of the Powleys since they left us, a 
fortnight ago ; and should be uneasy at their silence on such an 
occasion, did we not know that she cannot write, and that he, 
on his first return to his parish after a long absence, may possi- 
bly find it diflicult. Her we found much improved in her health 
and spirits, and him, as always, alfectionate and obliging. It 
was an agi'eeable visit, and as it was ordered for mc, I hap- 
pened to have better spirits than I have enjoyed at any time 
since. 

I shall rejoice if your friend Mr. Philips, influenced by what 
you told him of my present engagements, shall waive his ap- 
plication to me for a poem on the slave-trade. I account myself 
honoui-ed by his intention to solicit me on the subject, and it 
would give me pain to refuse him, which inevitably I shall be 
constrained to do. The more I have considered it, the more 
I have convinced myself that it is not a promising theme for 
verse. General censure on the iniquity of the practice will avail 
nothing. The world has been overwhelmed with such remarks 
already, and to particularize all tlie horrors of it were an em- 
ployment for the mind both of the poet and his readers, of 
which they would necessarily soon grow weary. For my own 
part, 1 cannot contemplate the subject very nearly, without a 
degree of abhorrence that alFects my spirits, and sinks them 
below the 'pitch requisite for success in verse. Lady Hesketh 
recommended it to me some months since, and then I declined 
it for these reasons, and for others which need not be mention- 
ed here. 

I return you many thanks forall your intelligence concerning 
the success of the gospel in far countries, and shall rejoice in a 



2Sti CORHESPONDENCE OF 

slight of Mr. Van Lier's letter, which, being so voluminous, 1 
think you should bring with you, when you can take your 
flight to Weston, rather than commit to any other convey- 
ance. 

Remember that it is now summer, and that the summer flies 
fast, and that we shall, be happy to see you and yours, as spee- 
dily and for as long a time as you can aflbrd. We are sorry, 
truly so, that Mrs. Newton is so frequently and so much in- 
disposed. Accept our best love to you both, and believe me^ 
my dear friend. 

Affectionately yours, 

W. C. 

After wliat I have said on the subject of my writing engngo- 
ments, I doubt not but you will excuse my transcribing the verses 
to Mrs. Montague, especially considering that my eyes are weary 
with what I have written this moraing already. • I feel some- 
what like an impropriety in referring you to the next Gentle- 
man's Magazine; but at the present juncture I know not how 
to do better. 



TO MRS. KING. 

MY DEAR MADAM, June 19, 1788. 

You must think me a tardy correspondent, unless you 
have had charity enough for me to suppose that I have met with 
other hindrances than those of indolence and inattention. With 
these I cannot charge myself, for I am never idle by choice; 
and inattentive to )'ou I certainly have not been ; but, on the con- 
trary, can safely affirm that every day I have thought on you. 
My silence has been occasioned by a malady to which I have all 



WILLIAM COWPEK. 2S7 

iny life been subject — an inflammation of the eyes. The last sud- 
den change of weather, from excessive heat to a wintry degree 
of cold, occasioned it, and at the same time gave me a pinch of 
the rheumatic kind ; from both which disorders I have l)ut just 
recovered. I do not suppose that our climate has been much 
altered since the days of our forcfiithers, the Picts ; but certainly 
the human constitution in tliis country has been altered much. 
Inured as we are from our cradles to every vicissitude in a cli- 
mate more various than any other, and in ])Osscssion of all that 
modern refinement has been able to contrive for our security, 
we are yet as subject to blights as the tenderest blossoms of 
spring; and are so well admonished of every change in the at- 
mosphere by our bodily feelings, as hardly to have any need of 
a weather-glass to mark them. For this we are, no doubt, in- 
debted to the multitude of our accommodations; for it was not 
possible to retain the hardiness that originally belonged to our 
race, under the delicate management to which for many ages 
we have now been accustomed. I can hardly doubt that a bull- 
dog or a game-cock might be made just as susceptible of inju- 
ries from weather as myself, Vv-ere he dieted, and in all respects 
accommodated as I am. Or if the project did not succeed in the 
first instance (for we ourselves did not become what we are 
at once), in process of time, however, and in a course of many 
generations it would certainly take effect. Let such a dog be 
fed in his infancy with pap, Naples' biscuit, and boiled chicken; 
let him be wrapt in flannel at night, sleep on a good feather-bed, 
and ride out in a coach for an airing; and if .his posterity do 
not become slight-limbed, puny, and valetudinarian, it will be 
a wonder. Thus our parents, and their parents, and the parents 
of both were managed ; and thus ourselves ; and the consequence 
is, that instead of being weather-proof, even without clothing, 
furs and flannels are not warm enough to defend us. It is ob- 



288 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

servoble, however, that tlioug:h we have by these means lost 
much of our pristine vio;our, our days are not the fewer. We 
live as long as those whonn, on account of the sturdiness of their 
frame, the poets supposed to have been the progeny of oaks. 
Perhaps too they had little feeling, and for that reason also might 
be imagined to be so descended. P^or a very robust athletic habit 
seems inconsistent with much sensibility. But sensibility is the 
sine qua non of real happiness. If, therefore, our lives have not 
been shortened, and if our feelings have been rendered more 
exquisite as our habit of body has become more delicate, on the 
whole, perhaps, we have no cause to complain, but are rather 
gainers by our degeneracy. 

Do you consider what you do, when you ask one poet his 
opinion of another? Yet I think I can give you an honest an- 
swer to your question, and without the least wish to nibble. 
Thomson was admirable in description ; but it always seemed to 
me that there was somewhat of affectation in his style, and that his 
numbers are sometimes not well harmonized. I could wish too, 
with Dr. Johnson, that he had confined himself to this country, 
for when he describes what he never saw, one is forced to read 
him with some allowance for possible misrepresentation. He 
was, however, a true poet, and his lasting fame has proved it. 
Believe me, dear Madam, with my best respects to Mr. King, 
most truly yours, 

W. C. 

P. S. I am extremely sorry that you have been so much in- 
disposed, and hope that your next will bring me a more favoura- 
ble account of your health. I know not why, but I rather sus- 
pect that you do not allow yourself sufficient air and exercise 
The physicians call them non-naturals, I suppose to deter thei? 
patients from the use of them. 



WILLIAM COWPER. ogg 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAR FRIEND, June 24, 1788. 

I rejoice that my letter found you at all points so well 
prepared to answer it according to our wishes. I have written 
to Lady Hesketh to apprise her of your intended journey hither, 
and she, having as yet made no assignation with us herself, will 
easily adjust her measures to the occasion. 

I have not lately had an opportunity of seeing Mr. Bean. 
The late rains, which have revived the hopes of the farmers, have 
intercepted our communication. I hear, however, that he meets 
with not a little trouble, in his progress towards a reformation of 
Olney manners ; and that the Sabbath, which he wishes to have 
hallowed by a stricter and more general observation of it, is, 
through the brutality of the lowest order, a day of more turbu- 
lence and riot than any other. At the latter end of last week 
he found himself obliged to make another trip to the justice, in 
company with two or three of the principal inhabitants. What 
passed, I have not learned ; but I understand their errand to have 
been, partly at least, to efface the evil impressions made on his 
worship's mind, by a man who had applied to him a day or two 
before for a warrant against the constable ; which, however, he 
did not obtain. I rather fear that the constables are not altogether 
judicious in the exercise either of their justice, or their mercy. 
Some who have seemed proper objects of punishment, they have 
released, on a hopeless promise of better behaviour; and others, 
whose offence has been personal against themselves, though in 
other respects less guilty, they have set in the stocks. The 
ladies, however, and of course the ladies of Silver-End in par- 
ticular, give them the most trouble, being always active on these 

o o 



290 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

occasions, as well as clamorous, and both with impunity. For 
the sex are privileged in the free use of their tongues, and of 
their nails, the Parliament having never yet laid them under any 
penal restrictions ; and they employ them accordingly. John- 
son, the constable, lost much of his skin, and still more of his 
coat, in one of those Sunday battles ; and had not Ashburner 
hastened to his aid, had j)robably been completely stripped of 
both. With such a zeal are these fair ones animated, though, 
unfortunately for all parties, rather erroneously. 

What you tell me of the effect that the limitation of numbers 
to tonnage, is likely to have on the Slave Trade, gives me the 
greatest pleasure. Should it amount, in the issue, to an abolition 
of the traffic, I shall account it indeed an argument of great wis- 
dom in our youthful minister. A silent, and indirect way of 
doing it, is, I suppose, the only safe one. At the same time, in 
how horrid a light does it place the trade itself; when it comes 
to be proved by consequences, that the mere article of a little 
elbow-room for the poor creatures in their passage to the islands, 
could not be secured by an order of Parliament, without the 
utter annihilation of it ! If so it prove, no man deserving to be 
called a man, can say that it ought to subsist a moment longer. — 
My writing-time is expended, and breakfast is at hand. With 
our joint love to the trio, and our best wishes for your good 
journey to Weston, I remain, my dear friend, 

Affectionately yours, 

W. C. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 391 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, July 6, 1788. 

" Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear" have com- 
pelled me to draw on you for the sum of twenty pounds, paya* 
ble to John Higgins, Esq. or order. The draft bears date July 
5th. — You will excuse my giving you this trouble, in considera- 
tion that I am a poet, and can consequently draw for money 
much easier than I can earn it, 

I heard of you a few days since, from Walter Bagot, who 
called here and told me that you were gone, I think, into Rut- 
landshire, to settle the accounts of a large estate unliquidated 
many years. Intricacies, that would turn my brains, are play to 
you. But I give you joy of a long vacation at hand, when I 
suppose that even you will find it pleasant, if not to be idle, at 
least not to be hemmed around by business. 

Yours, ever, 

W. C, 



TO MRS. KING. 

MY DEAR MADAM, Aug. 28, 1788. 

Should you discard me from the number of your cor- 
respondents, you will treat me as I seem to deserve, though I 
do not actually deserve it. I have lately been engaged with 
company at our house, who resided with us five weeks, and have 
had much of the rheumatism into the bargain. Not in my fingers, 
you will say — True. But you know as well as I, that pain, be 
it where it may, indisposes us to writing. 
You express some degree of wonder that I found you out to 



298 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

be sedentary, at least much a stayer within doors, without any 
sufficient data for my direction. Now if I should gjuess your 
figure and stature with equal success, you will deem me not only 
a poet but a conjurer. Yet in fact I have no pretensions of that 
sort. I have only formed a picture of you in my own imagina- 
tion, as we ever do of a person of whom we think much, though 
we have never seen that person. Your height I conceive to be 
about five feet five inches, which though it would make a short 
man, is yet height enough for a woman. If you insist on an inch 
or two more, 1 have no objection. You are not very fat, but 
somewhat inclined to be fat, and unless you allow yourself a 
little more air and exercise, will incur some danger of exceeding 
in your dimensions before you die. Let me, therefore, once 
more reQommend to you to walk a little more, at least in your 
garden, and to amuse yourself occasionally with pulling up here 
and there a weed, for it will be an inconvenience to you to be 
much fatter than you are, at a time of life when your strength 
will be naturally on the decline. I have given you a fair com- 
plexion, a slight tinge of the rose in your cheeks, dark brown 
hair, and, if the fashion would give you leave to shew it, an open 
and well-formed forehead. To all this I add a pair of eyes not 
quite black, but nearly approaching to that hue, and very ani- 
mated. I have not absolutely determined on the shape of your 
nose, or the form of your mouth; but should you tell me that I 
have in other respects drawn a tolerable likeness, have no doubt 
but I can describe them too. I assure you that though I have 
a great desire to read him, I have never seen Lavater, nor have 
availed myself in the least of any of his rules on this occasion. 
Ah, Madam ! if with all that sensiliility of yours, which exposes 
you to so much sorrow, and necessarily must expose you to it, 
in a world like this, I have had the good fortune to make you 



WILLIAM COWPER. 239 

smile, I have then painted you, whether with a strong resem- 
blance, or with none at all, to very good purpose. 

I had intended to have sent you a little poem, which I have 
lately finished, but have no room to transcribe it. You shall 
have it by another opportunity. Breakfast is on the table, and 
my time also fails, as well as my paper. I rejoice that a cousin 
of yours found my volumes agreeable to him, for, being your 
cousin, I will be answerable for his good taste and judgment. 

When I wrote last, I was in mourning for a dear and much- 
valued uncle, Ashley Cowper. He died at the age of eighty-six. 
My best respects attend Mr. King ; and I am, dear Madam, 

Most truly yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Sept. 2, 1788. 

I rejoice that you and yours reached London safe, espe- 
cially when I reflect that you performed the journey on a day 
so fatal, as I understand, to others travelling the same road. I 
found those comforts in your visit which have formerly sweet- 
ened all our interviews, in part restored. I knew you ; knew 
you for the same shepherd who was sent to lead me out of the 
wilderness into the pasture where the chief Shepherd feeds his 
flock, and felt my sentiments of affectionate friendship for you 
the same as ever. But one thing was still wanting, and that 
thing the crown of all. I shall find it in God's time, if it be 
not lost for ever. "(Vhen I say this, I say it trembling ; for at 
what time soever comfort shall come, it will not come without 
its attendant evil ; and whatever good thing may occur in the 



294 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

interval, I have sad forebodings of the event, having learned by 
experience that I was born to be persecuted with peculiar fury, 
and assuredly believing, that such as my lot has been, it will be 
so to the end. This belief is connected in my mind with an ob- 
servation I have often made, and is perhaps founded, in great part, 
upon it: that there is a certain style of dispensations maintained 
by Providence in the dealings of God with every man, which, 
however the incidents of his life may vary, and though he may 
be thrown into many different situations, is never exchanged for 
another. The style of dispensation peculiar to myself has 
hitherto been that of sudden, violent, unlooked-for change. 
When I have thought myself falling into the abyss, I have been 
caught up again ; when I have thought myself on the threshold 
of a happy eternity, I have been thrust down to hell. The 
rough and the smooth of such a lot, taken together, should per- 
haps have taught me never to despair ; but through an unhappy 
propensity in my nature to forebode the worst, they have, on 
the contrary, operated as an admonition to me never to hope. 
A firm persuasion that I can never durably enjoy a comfortable 
state of mind, but must be depressed in proportion as I have 
been elevated, withers my joys in the bud, and, in a manner, 
entombs them before they are born : for I have no expectation 
but of sad vicissitude, and ever believe that the last shock of 
all will be fatal. 

Mr. Bean has still some trouble with his parishioners. The 
suppression of five public-houses is the occasion. He called on 
me yesterday morning for advice ; though, discreet as he is him- 
self, he has little need of such counsel as I can give him. • , 

who is subtle as a dozen foxes, met him on Sunday, exactly at 
his descent fiom the pulpit, and proposed to him a general 
meeting of the parish, in vestry, on the subject. Mr. Bean, 
attacked so suddenly, consented ; but afterward repented that 



WILLIAM COWPER. 295 

he had done so, assured as he was that he should be out-voted. 
There seemed no remedy but to apprise them beforehand that he 
would meet them indeed, but not with a view to have the ques- 
tion decided by a majority : that he would take that opportunity 
to make his all€ig;ations a2;ainst each of the houses in question, 
which if they could refute, well ; if not, they could no longer 
reasonably oppose his measures. This was what he came to 
submit to my opinion. I could do no less than approve it; and 
he left me with a purpose to declare his mind to them immedi- 
ately. 

I beg that you will give my affectionate respects to Mr. Ba- 
con, and assure him of my sincere desire that he should think 
himself perfectly at liberty respecting the mottos, to choose one, 
or to reject both, as likes him best. I wish also to be remem- 
bered with much affection to Mrs. Cowper, and always rejoice 
to hear of her well-being. 

Believe me, as I truly am, my dear friend, most affectionately 
yours, 

W. C. 



TO MRS. KING, 

MY DEAREST MADAM, Sept. 25, 1788. 

How surprised was I this moment to meet a servant at 
the gate, who told me that he came from you ! He could not 
have been more welcome, unless he had announced yourself. I 
am charmed with your kindness and with all your elegant pre- 
sents. So is Mrs. Unvvin, who begs me in particular to thank 
you warmly for the housewife, the very thing she had just be- 
gun to want. In the fire-screen you have sent me an enigma 
which at present I have not the ingenuity to expound ; but some 



i 



296 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

Muse will help me, or I shall meet with somebody able to in- 
struct me. In all that I have seen besides, for that I have not 
yet seen, I admire both the taste and the execution. A tooth- 
pick case I had : but one so large, that no modern waistcoat 
pocket could possibly contain it. It was some years since the 
Dean of Durham's, for whose sake I valued it, though to me 
useless. Yours is come opportunely to supply the deficiency, 
and shall be my constant companion to its last thread. The 
cakes and the apples we will eat, remembering who sent them; 
and when I say this, I will add also, that when we have neither 
apples nor cakes to eat, we will still remember you. — What the 
MS. poem can be, that you suppose to have been written by me, 
I am not able to guess ; and since you will not allow that I have 
guessed your person well, am become shy of exercising conjec- 
ture on any meaner subject. Perhaps they may be some mor- 
tuary verses, which I wrote last year, at the request of a cer- 
tain parish-clerk. If not, and you have never seen them, I will 
send you them hereafter. 

You have been at Bedford. Bedford is but twelve miles from 
Weston. When you are at home, we are but eigliteen miles 
asunder. Is it possible that such a paltry interval can separate 
us always? I will never believe it. Our house is going to be 
fdled by a cousin of mine and her train, who will, I hope, 
spend the winter with us. I cannot, therefore, repeat my in- 
vitation at present, but expect me to be very troublesome on 
that theme next summer. I could almost scold you for not 
making Weston in your way home from Bedford. Though I 
am neither a relation, nor quite eighty-six years of age, believe 
me I should as much rejoice to see you and Mr. King, as if I 
were both. 

(Mrs. Unwin has this moment opened the screen, which I 
admire, and shall find particularly useful.) 



WIT.MAM COWPEU. 297 

I send you, my dear madam, the poem I promised you, and 
shall be glad to send you any thing and every thing I write, as 
fast as it flows. Behold my two volumes ! which, though your 
old acquaintance, I thought, might receive an additional recom- 
mendation in the shape of a present from myself. 

What I have written I know not, for all has been scribbled 
in haste. I will not tempt your servant's honesty, who seems 
by his countenance to have a great deal, being equally watchful 
to preserve uncorrupted the honesty of my own. 

I am, my dearest madam, with a thousand thanks for this 
stroke of friendship, which I feel at my heart, and with Mrs. 
Unwinds very best respects, most sincerely yours, 

W. C. 

P. S. My two hares died little more than two years since j 
one of them aged ten years, the other eleven years and eleven 
months. 

Our compliments attend Mr. King. 



TO MRS. KING. 

MV DEAK MADAM, Oct. 11, 1788. 

You are perfectly secure from all danger of being over- 
whelmed with presents from me. It is not much that a poet 
can possibly have it in his power to give. When he has pre- 
sented his own works, he may be supposed to have exhausted 
all means of donation. They are his only superfluity. There 
was a time, but that time was before I commenced writer for 
the press, when I amused myself in a way somewhat similar to 
yours; allowing, I mean, for the diflerence between masculine 
and female operations. The scissors and the needle are your 
chief implements ; mine were the chisel and the saw. In those 

p p 



298 COHRKSPONnENnP- OF 

days you might have been in some danger of too plentiful u 
return for youi- favours. Tables, such as they were, and joint- 
stools such as never were, might have travelled to Perton-hall 
in most inconvenient abundance. But I have long since discon- 
tinued this practice, and many others which 1 found it necessary 
to adopt, that I might escape the worst of all evils, both in it- 
self and in its consequences — an idle life. Many arts I have 
exercised with this view, for which nature never designed me; 
though among them were some in which I arrived at consider- 
able proficiency, by mere dint of the most heroic perseverance. 
There is not a "squire in all this country who can boast of hav- 
ing made better squirrel houses, hutches for rabbits, or bird- 
cages, than myself, and in the article of cabbage-nets, I had no 
superior. I even had the hardiness to take in hand the pencil, 
and studied a whole year the art of drawing. Many figures 
were the fruit of my labours, which had, at least, the merit of 
being unparalleled by any production either of art or nature. 
But before the year was ended, 1 had occasion to wonder at the 
progress that may be made, in despite of natural deficiency, by 
dint alone of practice; for I actually produced three landscapes, 
which a lady thought worthy to be framed and glazed. I then 
judged it high time to exchange this occupation for another, lest, 
by any subsequent productions of inferior merit, I should for- 
feit the honour I had so fortunately acquired. But gardening 
was, of all cmj)loymcnts, that in which I succeeded bestj 
though even in this 1 did not suddenly attain perfection. I be- 
gan with lettuces and cauliflowers : from them I proceeded to 
cucumbers ; next to melons. I then purchased an orange-tree, 
to which, in due time, I added two or three myrtles. These 
served me day and night with employment during a whole se- 
vere winter. To defend them from the frost, in a situation that 
exposed them to its severity, cost me much ingenuity and 



"WILLIAM COWPEK. 2'9& 

touch attendance. I contrived to give them a fire heat ; and 
have waded night after night through the snow, with the bel- 
lows under my arm, just before going to bed, to give the latest 
possible puflf to the embers, lest the frost should seize them be- 
fore morning. Very minute beginnings have sometimes im- 
portant consequences. From nursing two or three little ever- 
greens, I became ambitious of a green-house, and accordingly 
built one ; which, verse excepted, afforded me amusement for 
a longer time than any expedient of all the many to which I 
have fled for refuge frorri the misery of having nothing to do. 
When I left Olney for Weston, 1 could no longer have a green- 
house of my own ; but in a neighbour's garden I find a better, 
of which the sole management is consigned to me. 

I had need take care, when I begin a letter, that the subject 
with which I set off be of some importance ; for before I can 
exhaust it, be it what it may, I have generally filled my paper. 
But self is a subject inexhaustible, which is the reason that 
though I have said little, and nothing, I am afraid, worth your 
hearing, I have only room to add, that I am, my dear Madam, 

Most truly yours, 

W. C. 

P. S. Mrs. Unwin bids rhe present her best compliments, 
and say how much she shall be obliged to you for the receipt 
to make that most excellent cake which came hither in its na- 
tive pan. There is no production of yours that will not be al- 
ways most welcome at Weston. 



300 CORRESPONDENCE OF 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 29, 1^88. 

Not to fill my paper with apologies, I will only say, that 
you know my occupation, and how little time it leaves me for 
other employments ; in which, had I leisure for them, I could 
take much pleasure. Letter-writing would be one of the most 
agreeable, and especially writing to you. 

Poor Jenny Raban is declining fast toward the grave, and as 
fast aspiring to the skies. I expected to have heard yesterday 
of her death ; but learned, on enquiry, that she was better. Dr. 
Kerr has seen her, and by virtue, I suppose, of his prescriptions, 
her fits, with which she was frequently troubled, are become 
less frequent. But there is no reason, I believe, to look for her 
recovery. Her case is a consumption, into which I saw her 
sliding swiftly in the spring. There is not much to be lament- 
ed, or that ought to be so, in the death of those that go to glory. 
She was a beautiful girl, and perhaps may have left a heart-ache 
for a legacy to some poor swain at Olney ; though I never heard, 
beautiful as siie was, that she had any lovye7's. INIany an ugly 
bundle can find an husband in such a place as Olney, while Ve- 
nus herself would shine there unnoticed. 

If you find many blots, and my writing illegible, you must 
pardon them, in consideration of the cause. Lady Heskethand 
Mrs. Unwin are both talking as if they designed to make them- 
selves amends for the silence they are enjoined while I sit trans- 
lating Homer. Mrs. Unwin is preparing the breakfast, and not 
having seen each other since they parted to go to bed, they have 
consequently a deal to communicate. 

I have seen Mr. Greatheed, both in his own house and herc 
Prosperity sits well on him, and I cannot find that this advan- 



WILLIAM COWPEK. 3Q1 

tageous change in his condition has made any alteration either 
in his views or his behaviour. The winter is gliding merrily 
away while my cousin is with us. She annihilates the difference 
between cold and heat, gloomy skies and cloudless. I have 
written I know not what, and with the dispatch of legerdemain ; 
but with the utmost truth and consciousness of what I say, as- 
sure you, my dear friend, that I am 

Ever yours, 

W. C. 



TO MRS. KING. 

MY DEAR MADAM, Dec. 6, 1788. 

It must, if you please, be a point agreed between us, that 
we will not make punctuality in writing the test of our regard 
for each other, lest we should incur the danger of pronouncing 
and suffering by an unjust sentence, and this mutually. I have 
told you, I believe, that the half hour before breakfast is my 
only letter-writing opportunity. In summer I rise rather 
early, and consequently at that season can find more time for 
scribbling than at present. If I enter my study now before 
nine, I find all at sixes and sevens ; for servants will take, in 
part at least, the liberty claimed by their masters. That you 
hiay not suppose us all sluggards alike, it is necessary, however, 
that I should add a word or two on this subject, in justification 
of Mrs. Unwin, who, because the days are too short for the im- 
portant concerns of knitting stockings and mending them, rises 
generally by candle-light ; a practice so much in the style of all 
the ladies of antiquity who were good for any thing, that it is 
impossible not to applaud it. 



30;8 COliRESPONDENCE OF 

Mrs. Battlson beino; dead, I began to fear tbat you would 
have no more calls to Bedford; but the marriage, so near at 
hand, of the young lady you mention with a gentleman of that 
place, gives me hope again that you may occasionally approach 
us as heretofore, and that on some of those occasions you will 
perhaps find )'our way to Weston. The deaths of some and the 
marriages of others make a new world of it every thirty years. 
Within that space of time, the majority are displaced, and a 
new generation has succeeded. Here and there one is permit- 
ted to stay a little longer, that there may not be wanting a few 
o-rave Dons like myself, to make the observation. This thought 
struck me very forcibly the other day, on reading a paper called 
the County Chronicle, which came hither in the package of 
some books from London. It contained news from Hertford- 
shire, and informed me, among other things, that at Great Berk- 
hampstead, the place of my birth, there is hardly a family left 
of all those with whom, in my early days, I was so familiar- 
The houses, no doubt, remain, but the inhabitants are only to 
be found now by their grave-stones ; and it is certain that I 
might pass through a town in which I was once a sort of princi- 
pal figure, unknowing and unknown. They are happy who 
have not taken up their rest in a world fluctuating as the sea, and 
passing away with the rapidity of a river. I wish to my heart 
that yourself and Mr. King may long continue, as you have al- 
ready long continued, exceptions from the general truth of this 
remark. You doubtless married early, and the thirty-six years 
elapsed may have yet other years to succeed them. I do not 
forget that your relation Mrs. Battison lived to the age of eighty- 
six. I am glad of her longevity, because it seems to aflbrd 
some assurance of yours; and I hope to know you better yet 
before you die. 

I have never seen the Observer, but am pleased with being 



WILIJAM COWPF.R. 303 

handsomely spoken of by an old school-fellow. Cumberland 
and I boarded together in the same house at Westminster. He 
was at that time clever, and I suppose has given proof sufficient 
to the world that he is still clever : but of all that he has written, 
it has never fallen in my way to read a syllable, except perhaps in 
a magazine or review, the sole sources, at present, of all my intelli- 
gence. Addison speaks of persons who grow dumb in the study 
of eloquence, and I have actually studied Homer till I am be- 
come a mere ignoramus in every other province of literature. 

An almost general cessation of egg-laying among the hens 
has made it impossible for Mrs. Unwin to enterprise a cake. 
She, however, returns you a thousand thanks for the receipt ; 
and being now furnished with the necessary ingredients, will 
begin directly. My letter-writing time is spent, and I must 
now to Homer. With my best respects to Mr. King, I remain, 
dear Madam, 

Most affectionately yours, 

W. C. 

P. S. When I wrote last, I told you, I believe, that Lady 
Hesketh was with us. She is with us now, making a cheerful 
winter for us at Weston. The acquisition of a new friend, and, 
at a late day, the recovery of the friend of our youth, are two 
of the chief comforts of which this life is susceptible. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAR FRIEND, Dec. 9, 1788. 

That I may return you the Latin manuscript as soon as 
possible, I take a short opportunity to scratch a few hasty lines, 
that it may not arrive alone. I have made here and there an 



JD4 COHUESPONDENCIi Ol- 

alteration, which appeared to mc for the belter ; but, on the 
whole, I cannot but wonder at your adroitness in a business to 
which you have been probably at no time much accustomed, 
and which, for many years, you have not at all practised. If, 
when you shall have written the whole, you shall wish for a 
corrector of the rest, so far as my own skill in the matter goes, 
it is entirely at your service. 

Lady Hesketh is obliged to you for the part of your letter in 
which she is mentioned, and returns her compliments. She 
loves all my friends, and consequently cannot be indifferent to 
you. The Throckmortons are gone into Norfolk, on a visit to 
Lord Petre. They will probably return this day fortnight. Mr. 

F is now preacher at Ravenstone. Mr. C still preaches 

here. The latter is warmly attended. The former has heard 
him, having, I suppose a curiosity to know by what charm he 
held his popularity ; but whether he has heard him to his own 
edification, or not, is more than 1 can say. Probably he won- 
ders, for I have heard that he is a sensible man. His success- 
ful competitor is wise in nothing but his knowledge of the 
gospel. 

1 am summoned to breakfast, and am, my dear friend, with 
our best love to Mrs. Newton, Miss Catlett, and yourself. 

Most affectionately yours, 

W. C. 

1 have not the assurance to call this an answer to your letter, 
in which were many things deserving much notice : but it is 
the best that, in the present moment, I am able to send you. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 



TO MRS. KING. 



MY DEAR MADAM, Jan. 29, 1789. 

This morning I said to Mrs. Unvvin, "I must write to 
Mrs. King : her long silence alarms me — something has hap- 
pened," These words of mine proved only a prelude to the 
arrival of your messenger with his most welcome charge, for 
which I return you my sincerest thanks. You have sent me 
the very things I wanted, and which I should have continued 
to want, had not you sent them. As often as the wine is set 
on the table, I have said to myself, This is all very well ; but 
I have no bottle-stands : and myself as often replied. No mat- 
ter; you can make shift without them. Thus I and myself 
have conferred together many a day ; and you, as if you had 
been privy to the conference, have kindly supplied the deficiency, 
and put an end to the debate for ever. 

When your messenger arrived I was beginning to dress for 
dinner, being engaged to dine with my neighbour Mr. Throck- 
morton, from whose house I am just returned, a«d snatch a few 
moments before supper to tell you how much I am obliged to 
you. You will not, therefore, find me very prolix at present ; 
but it shall not be long before you shall hear further from 
me. Your honest old neighbour sleeps under our roof, and will 
be gone in the morning before I shall have seen him. 

I have more items than one by wliich to remember the late 
frost : it has cost me the bitterest uneasiness. Mrs. Unwin got 
a fall on the gravel-walk covered with ice, which has confined 
her to an upper chamber ever since. She neither broke nor 
dislocated any bones •, but received such a contusion below the 
hip, as crippled her completely. She now begins to recover, 
after having been helpless as a child for a whole fortnight ; but 



306 COttRESPONDENCE OF 

SO slowly at present, that lier amendment is even now almost 
imperceptible. 

Engaged, however, as I am with my own private anxieties, I 
yet find leisure to interest myself not a little in the distresses of 
the Royal Family, especially in those of the Queen. The Lord 
Chancellor called the other morning on Lord Stafford : entering 
the room, he threw his hat into a sofa at the fire-side, and 
clasping his hands, said. 1 have heard of distress, and I have 
read of it ; but I never saw distress equal to that of the Queen. 
This I know from particular and certain authority. 

My dear Madam, I have not time to enlarge at present on 
this subject, or to touch any other. Once more, therefore, 
thanking you for your kindness, of which I am truly sensible ; 
and thanking, too, Mr. King for the favour he has done me in 
subscribing to my Homer, and at the same time begging you to 
make my best compliments to him, I conclude myself, with 
Mrs. Unwin's acknowledgments of your most acceptable present 
to her, 

Your obliged and affectionate 

W. C. 



TO MRS. KING. 

MY DEAR MADAM, March 12, 1789. 

I feel myself in no small degree unworthy of ihe kind 
solicitude which you express concerning me and my welfare, 
after a silence so much longer than 1 gave you reason to ex- 
pect. I should indeed account myself inexcusable, had I not 
to allege, in my defence, perpetual engagements of such a kind 
as would by no means be dispensed with. Had iiomer alone 
been in question, Homer should have made room for you : but 



WILLIAM COWPEK. 307 

I have had other work in hand at the same time, equally press- 
ing, and more laborious. Let it suffice to say, that I have not 
wilfully neglected you for a moment, and that you have never 
been out of my thoughts a day together. But I begin to per- 
ceive, that if a man will be an author, he must live neither to 
himself nor to his friends so much as to others, whom he never 
saw nor shall see. 

My promise to follow my last letter with another speedily, 
which promise I kept so ill, is not the only one which 1 am 
conscious of having made to you, and but very indifferently 
performed. I promised you all the smaller pieces that I should 
produce, as fast as occasion called them forth, and leisure oc- 
curred to write them. Now, the fact is, that I have produced 
several since I made that fair profession, of which I have sent 
you hardly any. The reason is, that, transcribed into the body 
of a letter, they would leave me no room for prose ; and that 
other conveyance than by the post I cannot find, even after en- 
quiry made among all my neighbours for a traveller to Kimbol- 
ton. Well, we shall see you, I hope, in the summer; and then 
I will show you all. I will transcribe one for you every morn- 
ing before breakfast, as long as they last ; and when you come 
down, you shall find it laid on your napkin. I sent one last 
week to London, which by some kind body or another, I know 
not whom, is to be presented to the Queen. The subject, as 
you may guess, is the King's recovery ; a theme that might 
make a bad poet a good one, and a good one excel himself. 
This, too, you shall see when we meet, unless it should bounce 
upon you before, from some periodical register of all such mat- 
ters. 

I shall commission my cousin, who lately left us, to procure 
for me the book you mention. Being, and having long been, 
.^o deep in the business of translation, it was natural that T 



308 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

should have many thouy;hts on that subject. I have accordingly 
had as many as would of themselves, perhaps, make a volume, 
and shall be glad to compare them with those of any writer re- 
commended by Mr. Martyn. When you write next to that 
gentleman, I beg you, Madam, to present my compliments to 
him, with thanks both for the mention of Mr, Twining's book, 
and for the honour of his name among my subscribers. 

Mrs. Unwin, though two months ago she fell, is still lame. 
The severity of the season, which has not suffered her to exer- 
cise herself in the open air, has, no doubt, retarded her reco- 
ver}' : but she recovers, though even more slowly than she 
walks. She joins me in best respects to yourself and Mr. King, 
and in hearty desires to see you both at Weston. Forgive the 
past. I make no more promises, except to remain always, my 
dear Madam, 

Your affectionate 

W. C. 



I'O MRS. KING. 



MV DEAR MADAM, April 22, 1789. 

Having waited hitherto in expectation of the messenger 
whom, in your last, you mentioned a design to send, I have at 
length sagaciously surmised that you delay to send him in ex- 
pectation of hearing first from me. I would that his errand 
hither were better worthy the journey. I shall have no very 
voluminous packet to charge him with when he comes. Such, 
however, as it is, it is ready ; and has received an addition in 
the interim of one copy, wliich would not have made a pirt of 
it, had your Mercury arriveil here sooner. It is on the subject 
of the Queen's visit to London on the night of the illumina- 



WILLIAM COWPEK. 309 

tions. Mrs. Unwin, knowing the burthen that lies on my back 
too heavy tor any but Atlantean shoulders, has kindly perform- 
ed the copyist's part, and transcribed all that 1 hail to send you. 
Observe, Madam, I do not write this to hasten your messenger 
hither, but merely to account tor my own silence. It is pro- 
bable thai the later he arrives, the more he will receive when 
he comes ; for I never fail to write when I think I have found 
a favourable subject. 

We mourn that we must give up the hope of seeing you and 
Mr. King at Weston. Had our correspondence commenced 
sooner, we had certainly fouud the means of meeting; but it 
seems that we were doomed to know each other too late for a 
meeting in this world. May a better world make usamends,as 
it certainly will, if I ever reach a better ! Our interviews here 
are but imperfect pleasures at the best ; and generally from such 
as promise us most gralilication, we receive the most disap- 
pointment. But disappointment is, I suppose, confined to the 
planet on whicli we dwell ; the only one in the universe, pro- 
bably, that is inhabited by sinners. 

I did not know, or even suspect, that when I received your 
last messenger, I received so eminent a disciple of Hippocrates ; 
a physician of such absolute control over disease and the human 
constitution, as to be able to put a pestilence into his pocket, 
confine it there, and to let it loose at his pleasure. We are 
much indebted to him, that he did not give us here a stroke of 
his ability. 

I must not forget to mention that I have received (probably 
not without your privity) Mr. Twining's valuable volume. For 
a long time 1 supposed it to have come from my bookseller, 
who now and then sends me a new publication ; but I find, on 
enquiry, that it came not from him. I beg. Madam, if you 
are aware that Mr, Twining himself sent it, or your friend Mr. 



3^0 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

Marty n, that you will negotiate for me on tlie occasion, and 
contrive to convey to the obllp;ing donor my very warmest 
thanks. I am impatient till he receives them. I have not yet 
had time to do justice to a writer so sensible, elegant, and en- 
tertaining, by a complete perusal of his work ; but I have with 
pleasure sought out all those passages to which Mr. Martyn 
was so good as to refer me, and am delighted to observe the 
exact agreement in opinion on the subject of translation in ge- 
neral, and on that of Mr. Pope's in particular, that subsists 
betneen Mr. Twining and myself. With Mrs. Unwin's best 
compliments, I remain, my dear Madam, your obliged and 
aflfectionate 

W. C. 



TO MRS. KING. 

MY DEAR MADAM, April 30, 1?89. 

I thought to have sent you, by the return of your mes- 
senger, a letter; at least, something like one: but instead of 
sleeping here, as I supposed he would, he purposes to pass the 
night at Lavsndon, a village three miles off. This design of 
his is but just made known to me, and it is now near seven in 
the evening. Therefore, lest he should be obliged to feel out 
his way, in an unknown country, in the dark, I am forced to 
scribble a hasty word or two, instead of devoting, as I intended, 
the whole evening to your service. 

A thousand thanks for your basket, and all the good things 
that it contained ; particularly for my brother's Poems, whose 
hand-writing struck me the moment I saw it. They gave me 
some feelings of a melancholy kind, but not painful. I will 
return them to you by the next opportunity. I wish that mine. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 311 

which I send you, may prove half as pleasant to you as your 
excellent cakes and apples have proved to us. You will then 
think yourself sufficiently recompensed for your obliging pre- 
sent. If a crab-stock can transform a pippin into a nonpareil, 
what may not I effect in a translation of Homer ? Alas ! 1 fear, 
nothing half so valuable. 

I have learned at length that I am indebted for Twining's 
Aristotle to a relation of mine, General Cowper. 

Pardon me that I quit you so soon. It is not willingly ; but 
I have compassion on your poor messenger. 

Adieu, my dear Madam, and believe me 

Affectionately yours, 

W. C, 



TO MRS. KING. 



DEAREST MADAM, May 30, 1789. 

Many thanks for your kind and valuable dispatches, none 
of which, except your letter, I have yet had time to read ; for 
true it is, and a sad truth too, that I was in bed when your mes- 
senger arrived. He waits only for my answer, for which reason 
I answer as speedily as I can. 

I am glad if my poetical packet pleased you. Those stanzas 
on the Queen's visit were presented some time since, by Miss 
Goldsworthy, to the Princess Augusta, who has probably given 
them to the Queen ; but of their reception I have heard nothing. 
I gratified myself by complimenting two sovereigns whom I love 
and honour ; and that gratification will be my reward. It would, 
indeed, be unreasonable to expect that persons who keep a Lau- 
reat in constant pay, should have either praise or emolument to 



312 CORRESPONDENCE OK 

spare for every volunteer who may choose to make them his 
subject. 

I will take the greatest care of the papers with which you have 
entrusted me, and will return them by the next opportunity. It is 
very unfortunate that the people of Bedford should choose to have 
the small-pox, just at the season when it woulil be sure lo prevent 
our meeting. God only knows, Madam, when we shall meet, 
or whether at all in this world ; but certain it is, that whether 
we meet or not, 

I am most truly yours, 

W. C. 



TO MRS. KING. 

MY DEAR MADAM, Aug. 1, 1789. 

The post brings me no letters that do not grumble at my 
silence. Had not you, therefore, taken me to task as roundly as 
others, I should have concluded you, perhaps, more indifferent 
to my epistles than the rest of my correspondents; of whom one 
says — " I shall be glad when you have finished Homer ; then 
possibly you will find a little leisure for an old friend." Ano- 
ther says — " I don't choose to be neglected, unless you equally 
neglect every one else." Thus I hear of it with both ears, and 
shall, till I appear in the shape of two great quarto volumes, the 
composition of which, 1 confess, engrosses me to a degree that 
gives my friends, to whom I feel myself much obliged for their 
anxiety to hear from me, but too much reason to complain. 
Johnson told Mr. Martyn the truth ; but your inference Ironi 
that truth is not altogether so just as most of your concfusions 
are. Instead of finding myself the more at leisure because my 
long labour draws tci a close, 1 find myself the more occupied. 



WILLIAM C0WPE14. 313 

As when a horse approaches the goal, he does not, unless he be 
jaded, slacken his pace, but quickens it : even so it fares with 
me. The end is in view; I seem almost to have reached the 
mark ; and the nearness of it inspires me with fresh alacrity. 
But, be it known to you that I have still two books of the 
Odyssey before me, and, when they are finished, shall have 
almost the whole eight and forty to revise. Judge, then, my 
dear Madam, if it is yet time for me to play, or to gratify myself 
with scribbling to those I love. No. It is still necessary that 
waking I should be all absorpt in Homer, and that sleeping I 
should dream of nothing else. 

I am a great lover of good paintings, but no connoisseur, hav- 
ing never had an opportunity to become one. In the last forty 
years of my life, I have hardly seen six pictures that were worth 
looking at; for I was never a frequenter of auctions, having 
never had any spare money in my pocket ; and the public ex- 
hibitions of them in London had hardly taken place when I left 
it. My cousin, who is with us, saw the gentleman whose pieces 
you mention, on the top of a scaffold, copying a famous picture 
in the Vatican. She has seen some of his performances, and 
much admires him. 

You have had a great loss, and a loss that admits of no conso- 
lation, except such as will naturally suggest itself to you ; such, 
I mean, as the scripture furnishes. We must all leave, or be 
left ; and it is the circumstance of all others that makes long life 
the least desirable, that others go while we stay, till at last we 
find ourselves alone, like a tree on a hill-top. 

Accept, my dear Madam, mine and Mrs. Unwinds best com- 
pliments to yourself and Mr. King, and believe me, however 
unfrequent in telling you that I am so. 

Affectionately yours, 

W. C. 
- R r 



314 CORRESPONDENCE OF 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 



MY DEAR FRIEND, August 12, 1789. 

I rejoice that you and Mrs. Hill arc so agreeably occu- 
pied in your retreat. August, I hope, will make us amends 
for the gloom of its many wintry predecessors. We are now 
gathering from our meadows, not hay, but muck ; such stuff 
as deserves not the carriage, which yet it must have, that the 
after-crop may have leave to grow. The Ouse has hardly deign- 
ed to run in his channel since the summer began. 

My muse were a vixen, if she were not always ready to fly 
in obedience to your commands. But what can be done ? I can 
write nothing in the few hours that remain to me of this day, 
that will be fit for your purpose; and, unless I could dispatch 
what I write by to-morrow's post, it would not reach you in 
time. I must add, too, that my friend the vicar of the next 
parish* engaged me, the day before yesterday, to furnish him 
by next Sunday with a hymn, to be sung on the occasion of 
his preaching to the children of the Sunday-school :t of which 
hymn I have not yet produced a syllable. I am somewhat in 
the case of lawyer Dowlingj in Tom Jones ; and could 1 split 
myself into as many poets as there are Muses, could find em- 
ployment for them all. 

Adieu, my dear friend, 

I am ever yours, 

W. C. 

• Olney. 

I " Hear, Lord, the song of praise and pray'r," &c. 

Yide Poems, vol. 3. page 138. 



WILLIAM COWPEK. 315 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Aug. 16, 1789. 

Mrs. Newton and you are both kind and just in believ- 
ing that I do not love you less when I am long silent. Perhaps 
a friend of mine, who wishes me to have him always in my 
thoughts, is never so effectually possessed of the accomplish- 
ment of that wish, as when I have been long his debtor; for 
then-l think of him not only every day, but day and night, and 
all day long. But I confess at the same time, that my thoughts 
of you will be more pleasant to myself when I shall have exo- 
nerated my conscience by giving you the letter so long due. 
Therefore, here it comes ; — little worth your having ; but pay- 
ment, such as it is, that you have a right to expect, and that is 
essential to my own tranquillity. 

That the Iliad and the Odyssey should have proved the occasion 
of my suspending my correspondence with you, is a proof how 
little we foresee the consequences of what we publish. Homer, 
I dare say, hardly at all suspected that at the fag-end of time 
two personages would appear, the one ycleped Sir Newton, and 
the other Sir Cowper, who, loving each other heartily, would ne- 
vertheless suffer the pains of an interrupted intercourse, his poems 
the cause. So, however, it has happened ; and though it would 
not, I suppose, extort from the old bard a single sigh, if he 
knew it, yet to me it suggests the serious reflection above-men- 
tioned. An author by profession had need narrowly to watch 
his pen, lest a line should escape it which by possibility may 
do mischief, when he has been long dead and buried. What 
we have done, when we have written a book, will never be 
known till the day of judgment : then the account will beliqui- 



316 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

dated, and all the good that it has occasioned, and all the evil, 
will witness either for or against us. 

I am now in the last book of the Odyssey, yet have still, I 
suppose, half a year's work before me. The accurate revisal of 
two such voluminous poems can hardly cost me less. I rejoice, 
however, that the goal is in prospect ; for though it has cost me 
years to run this race, it is only now that I begin to have a 
glimpse of it. That I shall never receive any proportionable 
pecuniary recompense for my long labours is pretty certain ; and 
as to any fame that I may possibly gain by it, that is a commo- 
dity that daily sinks in value, in measure as the consummation 
of all things approaches. In the day when the lion shall dandle 
the kid, and a little child shall lead them, the world will have 
lost all relish for the fabulous legends of antiquity, and Homer 
and his translator may budge off the stage together. 

Ever yours, 

W. C 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Dec. 1, 1789. 

On this fine first of December, under an unclouded sky, 
and in a room full of sun-shine, I address myself to the pay- 
ment of a debt long in arrear, but never forgotten b}^ me, how- 
ever 1 may have seemed to forget it. I will not waste time in 
apologies. I have but one, and that one will suggest itself un- 
mentioned. I will only add, that you are the first to whom I 
write, of several to whom I have not written many months, 
who all have claims upon me ; and who, I flatter myself, are 
all grumbling at my silence. In your case, perhaps, I have 
been less anxious than in the case of some others; because if 



WILLIAM COWPER. 317 

you have not heard from myself, you have heard from Mrs. 
Unwin. From her you have learned that I live, that I am as 
well as usual, and that I translate Homer : — three short items, 
but in which is comprised the whole detail of my present his- 
tory. Thus I fared when you were here ; thus I have fared 
ever since you were here ; and thus, if it please God, I shall 
continue to fare for some time longer: for, though the work is 
done, it is not finished ; a riddle which you, who are a brother 
of the press, will solve easily. I have also been the less anxious, 
because I have had frequent opportunities to hear of you ; and 
have always heard that you are in good health and happy. Of 
Mrs. Newton, too, I have heard more favourable accounts of 
late, which have given us both the sincerest pleasure. Mrs. 
Unwin's case is, at preaent, my only subject of uneasiness, that 
is not immediately personal, and properly my own. She has 
almost constant head-aches ; almost a constant pain in her side, 
which nobody understands ; and her lameness, within the last 
half year, is very little amended. But her spirits are good, be- 
cause supported by comforts which depend not on the state of 
the body ; and I do not know that, with all these pains, her 
looks are at all altered since we had the happiness to see you 
here, unless, perhaps, they are altered a little for the better. I 
have thus given you as circumstantial an account of ourselves 
as I could ; the most interesting matter, I verily believe, with 
which I could have filled my paper, unless I could have made 
spiritual mercies to myself the subject. In my next, perhaps, 
I shall find leisure to bestow a few lines on what is doing in 
France, and in the Austrian Netherlands ; though, to say the 
truth, I am much better qualified to write an essay on the siege 
of Troy, than to descant on any of these modern revolutions. 
I question if, in either of the countries just mentioned, full of 
bustle and tumult as they are, there be a single character whom 



318 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

Homer, were he living, would deign to make his hero. The 
populace are the heroes now, and the stuff of which gentlemen 
heroes are made, seems to be all expended. 

I will endeavour that my next letter shall not follow this so 
tardily as this has followed the last ; and with our joint affec- 
tionate remembrances to yourself and Mrs. Newton, remain as 
ever. 

Sincerely yours, 

W. C. 



TO MRS. KING. 

MY DEAR MADAM, Jan. 4, 1790. 

Your long silence has occasioned me to have a thousand 
anxious thoughts about you. So long it has been, that whether 
I now write to a Mrs. King at present on earth, or already in 
Heaven, I know not. I have friends whose silence troubles. me 
less, though I have known them longer ; because, if I hear not 
from themselves, I yet hear from others that they are still living, 
and likely to live. But if your letters cease to bring me news 
of your welfare, from whom can I gain the desirable intelligence ? 
The birds of the air will not bring it, and third person there is 
none between us by whom it might be conveyed. Nothing is 
plain to me on this subject, but that either you are dead, or very 
much indisposed ; or, which would affect me with perhaps as 
dee|) a concern. thou2:h of a different kind, very much offended. 
The latter of these suppositions 1 think the least probable, con- 
scious as I am of an habitual desire to offend nobody, especially 
a lady and especially a lady to whom I havemany obligations. But 
all the three solutions above-mentioned are very uncomfortable; 
and if you live, and can send me one that will cause me less pain 
than either of them, I conjure you, by the charity and beuevo- 



WILLIAM COWPER. 31 g 

lence which I know influence you upon all occasions, to com- 
municate it without delay. 

It is possible, notwithstanding appearances to the contrary, 
that you are not become perfectly indifierent to me, and to what 
concerns me. I will therefore add a word or two on a subject 
which once interested you, and which is, for that reason, worthy 
to be mentioned, though truly for no other — meaning myself. 
I am well, and have been so (uneasiness on your account ex- 
cepted) both in mind and body, ever since I wrote to you last. 
I have still the same employment. Homer in the morning, and 
Homer in the evening, as constant as the day goes round. In 
the Spring I hope to send the Iliad and Odyssey to the press. 
So much for me and my occupations. Poor Mrs. Unwin has 
hitherto had but an unpleasant winter ; unpleasant as constant 
pain, either in the head or side, could make it. She joins me 
in affectionate compliments to yourself and Mr. King, and in 
earnest wishes that you will soon favour me with aline that shall 
relieve me from all my perplexities. 

I am, dear Madam, 

Sincerely yours, 

W. C. 



TO MRS. KING. 

MY DEAR MADAM, Jan. 18, 1790. 

The sincerest thanks attend you, both from Mrs. Unwin 
and myself, for many good things, on some of which I have 
already regaled with an affectionate remembrance of the giver. 
We have not yet opened the cocoa-nut, but it was particularly 
welcome. It is medicine to Mrs. Unwin, who finds it alwaj's 
more beneficial to her health than any thing properly called 



320 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

medicinal. We are truly sorry that you are so much a sufferer 
by the rheumatism. I also occasionally suffer by the same dis- 
order, and in years past was much tormented by it. I can there- 
fore pity you. 

The report that informed you of enquiries made by Mrs. Un- 
win after a house at Huntingdon was unfounded. We have no 
thought of quitting Weston, unless the same Providence that 
led us hither, should lead us away. It is a situation perfectly 
agreeable to us both ; and lo me in particular, who write much 
and walk much, and consequently love silence and retirement, 
one of the most eligible. If it has a fault, it is that it seems to 
threaten us with a certainty of never seeing you. But may we 
not hope that when a milder season shall have improved your 
health, we may yet, notwithstanding the distance, be favoured 
with Mr. King's and your company? A better season will like- 
wise improve the roads, and exactly in proportion as it does so, 
will, in effect, lessen the interval between us. I know not if 
Mr. Martyn be a mathematician, but most probably he is a good 
one, and he can tell you that this is a proposition mathematically 
true, though rather paradoxical in appearance. 

I am obliged to that gentleman, and much obliged to him for 
his favourable opinion of my translation. What parts of Homer are 
particularly intended by the critics, as those in which I shall pro- 
bably fall short, I know not ; but let me fail where I may, I shall 
fail no where through want of endeavours to avoid it. The under 
parts of the poems (those I mean which are merely narrative,) 
I find the most difficult. These can only be supported by the 
diction, and on these, for that reason, I have bestowed the most 
abundant labour. Fine similes, and fine s[)eeches take care of 
themselves; but the exact process of slaying a sheep and dress- 
ing it, it is not so easy to dignify in our language, and in our 
measure. But I shall have the comfort, as I said, to reflect, that 



WILLIAM COWPER. 321 

whatever may be hereafter laid to my charge, the sin of idleness 
will not. Justly, at least, it never will. In the mean time, my 
dear Madam, I whisper to you a secret ; — not to fall short of the 
original in every thing, is impossible. 

I send you, I believe, all my pieces that you have never seen. 
Did I not send you Catharina ? If not, you shall have it hereafter. 
I am, dear Madam, ever in haste, 

Sincerely yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 5, 1790. 

Your kind letter deserved a speedier answer, but you 
know my excuse, which were I to repeat always, my letters 
would resemble the fag-end of a newspaper, where we always 
find the price of stocks, detailed with little or no variation. 

When January returns, you have your feelings concerning 
me, and such as prove the faithfulness of your friendship. I have 
mine also concerning myself, but they are of a cast different 
from yours. Yours have a mixture of sympathy and tender so- 
licitude, which makes them, perhaps, not altogether unpleasant. 
Mine, on the contrary, are of an unmixed nature, and consist 
simply, and merely, of the most alarming apprehensions. Twice 
has that month returned upon me, accompanied by such horrors 
as I have no reason to suppose ever made part of the experience 
of any other man. I accordingly look forward to it, and meet 
it, with a dread not to be imagined. I number the nights as 
they pass, and in the morning bless myself that another night is 
gone, and no harm has happened. This may argue, perhaps, 
some imbecility of mind, and no small degree of it ; but it is 

s s 



322 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

natural, I believe, and so natural as to be necessary and una- 
voidable. I know that God is not governed by secondary 
causes, in any of his operations, and that, on the contrary, they 
are all so many agents, in his hand, which strike only when he 
bids them. I know consequently that one month is as dangerous 
to me as another, and that in the middle of summer, at noon- 
day, and in the clear sunshine, I am, in reality, unless guarded 
by him, as much exposed, as when fast asleep at midnight, and 
in mid-winter. But we are not always the wiser for our know- 
ledge, and I can no more avail myself of mine, than if it were 
in the head of another man, and not in my own. I have heard 
of bodily aches and ails that have been particularly troublesome 
when the season returned in which the hurt that occasioned 
them was received. The mind, I believe, (with my own, bow- 
ever, I am sure it is so,) is liable to similar periodical afl'ection. 
But February is come ; January, my terror, is passed ; and 
some shades of the gloom that attended his presence, have pass- 
ed with him. I look forward with a little cheerfulness to the 
buds and the leaves that will soon appear, and say to myself, 
till they turn yellow I will make myself easy. The year will 
go round, and January will approach. I shall tremble again, 
and I know it ; but in the mean time I will be as comfortable 
as I can. Thus, in respect of peace of mind, such as it is that I 
enjoy, I subsist, as the poor are vulgarly said to do, from hand 
to mouth ; and of a Christian, such as you once knew me, am, by 
a strange transformation, become an Epicurean philosopher, bear- 
ing this motto on my mind, — Quid sit futurum eras, fugt 
qiiserere. 

I have run on in a strain that the beginning of your letter 
suggested to me, with such impetuosity, that 1 have not left 
myself opportunity to write more by the present post : and be- 
ing unwilling that you should wait longer for what will be worth 



WILLIAM COWPER. 323 

sio thing when you get it, will only express the great pleasure 
we feel on hearing, as we did lately from Mr, Bull, that Mrs. 
Newton is so much better. 

Truly yours, 
' W. C 



TO MRS. KING. 

MY DEAR MADAM, March 12, 1790. 

I live in such a nook, have so few opportunities of hear- 
ing news, and so little time to read it, that to me, to begin a 
letter seems always a sort of forlorn hope. Can it be possible, 
I say to myself, that I should have any thing to communicate? 
These misgivings have an ill eflfect, so far as my punctuality is 
concerned, and are apt to deter me from the business of letter- 
writing, as from an enterprise altogether impracticable. 

I will not say that you are more pleased with my trifles than 
they deserve, lest I should seem to call your judgment in ques- 
tion ; but I suspect that a little partiality to the brother of my 
brother, enters into the opinion you form of them. No matter, 
however, by what you are influenced, it is for my interest that 
you should like them at any rate, because, such as they are, they 
are the only return I can make you for all your kindness. This 
consideration will have two effects ; it will have a tendency to 
make me more industrious in the production of such pieces, and 
more attentive to the manner in which I write them. This re- 
minds me of a piece in your possession, which I will entreat 
you to commit to the flames, because I am somevVhat ashamed 
of it. To make you amends, I hereby promise to send you a 
new edition of it when time shall serve, delivered from the pas- 
sages that I dislike in the first, and in other respects amended. 



324 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

The piece that I moan, is one entitled — " To Lady Hesketh on 
her furnishing for mc our house at Weston" — or, as the law- 
yers say, words to that amount. I have, likewise, since I sent 
you the last packet, been delivered of two or three other brats, 
and, as the year proceeds, shall probably add to the number. 
All that come, shall be basketed in time, and conveyed to your 
door. 

I have lately received from a female cousin of mine in Nor- 
folk, whom I have not seen these five and thirty years, a pic- 
ture of my own mother. She died when I wanted two days of 
being six years old ; yet I remember her perfectly, find the 
picture a strong likeness of her, and because her memory has 
been ever precious to me, have written a poem on the receipt 
of it : a poem which, one excepted, I had more pleasure in 
writing than any that I ever wrote. That one was addressed to 
a lady whom I expect in a few minutes to come down to break- 
fast, and who has supplied to me the place of my own mother — 
my own invaluable mother, these six and twenty years. Some 
sons may be said to have had many fathers, but a plurality of 
mothers is not common. 

Adieu, my dear Madam, be assured that I always think of 
you with much esteem and affection, and am, with mine and 
Mrs. Unwinds best compliments to you and yours, most unfeign- 
edly your friend and humble servant, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ, 

MY DEAR FRIEND, May 2, 1790. 

1 am still at the old sport — Homer all the morning, and 
Homer all the evening. Thus have I been held in constant 



WILLIAM COWPER. 325 

employment, I know not exactly how many, but I believe these 
six years, an interval of eight months excepted. It has now be- 
come so familiar to me to take Homer from my shelf at a cer- 
tain hour, that I shall, no doubt, continue to take him from my 
shelf at the same time, even after I have ceased to want him. 
That period is not far distant. I am now giving the last touclies 
to a work which, had I foreseen the difficulty of it, I should 
never have meddled with ; but which, having at length nearly 
finished it to my mind, I shall discontinue with regret. 

My very best compliments attend Mrs. Hill, whom I love, 
unsight unseen, as they say ; but yet truly. 

Yours ever, 

W. C. 



TO MRS. KING. 

MY DEAR MADAM, June 14, 1790. 

I have hardly a scrap of paper belonging to me that is 
not scribbled over with blank verse ; and taking out your letter 
from a bundle of others, this moment, I find it thus inscribed 
on the seal side. 



-meantime his steeds 



Snorted, by Myrmidons detain'd, and loosed 
From their own master's chariot, foam'd to fly. 

You will easily guess to what they belong ; and I mention the 
circumstance merely in proof of my perpetual engagement to 
Homer, whether at home or abroad ; for when I committed 
these lines to the back of your letter, I was rambling at a con- 
siderable distance from home. I set one foot on a mole-hill, 
placed my hat with the crown upward on my knee, laid your 
letter upon it, and with a pencil wrote the fragment that I have 



325 COKRESPONDENCE OF 

sent you. In the same posture I have written many and 
many a passage of a work which I hope soon to have done 
with. But all this is foreign to what I intended when I 
first took pen in hand. My purpose then was, to excuse my 
long silence as well as I could, by telling you that I am at pre- 
sent not only a labourer in verse, but in prose also, having been 
requested by a friend, to whom I could not refuse it, to trans- 
late for him a series of Latin letters received from a Dutch mi- 
nister of the gospel at the Cape of Good Hope. With this ad- 
ditional occupation you will be sensible that my hands are full ; 
and it is a truth that, except to yourself, 1 would, just at this 
time, have written to nobody. 

I felt a true concern for what you told me in your last re- 
specting the ill-state of health of your much valued friend Mr. 
Martyn. You say, if I knew half his worth, I should, with you, 
wish his longer continuance below. Now you must understand 
that, ignorant as I am of Mr. Martyn, except by your report of 
him, I do nevertheless sincerely wish it — and tliat both for your 
sake and my own ; nor less for the sake of the public. For your 
sake, because you love and esteem him highly ; for the sake of 
the public, because, should it please God to take him before he 
has completed his great botanical work, I suppose no other per- 
son will be able to finish it so well ; and for my own sake, be- 
cause I know he has a kind and favourable opinion beforehand 
of my translation, and consequently, should it justify his preju- 
dice when it appears, he will stand my friend against an army of 
Cambridge critics. — It would have been strange indeed if self 
had not peeped out on this subject. — I beg you will present my 
best respects to him, and assure him that were it possible he 
could visit Weston, I should be most happy to receive him. 

Mrs. Unwin would have been employed in transcribing my 
rhymes for you, would her health have permitted ; but it is very 



WILLIAM COWPER. 337 

seldom she can write without being much a sufferer by it. She 
has almost a constant pain in her side, which forbids it. As soon 
as it leaves her, or inuch abates, she will be glad to work for 
you. 

I am, like you and Mr. King, an admirer of clouds, but only 
when there are blue intervals, and pretty wide ones too, between 
them. One cloud is too much for me, but a hundred are not 
too many. So with this riddle and with my best respects to 
Mr. King, to which I add Mrs. Unwin's to you both — I remain, 
my dear Madam, 

Truly yours, 

W. C. 



TO MKS. KING. 

MY DEAR MADAM, July 16, 1790. 

Taking it for granted that this will find you at Perton- 
hall, I follow you with an early line, and a hasty one, to tell you 
how much we rejoice to have seen yourself and Mr. King ; and 
how much regret you have left beliind you. The wish that we 
expressed when we were together, Mrs. Unwin and I have more 
than once expressed since your departure, and have always felt 
it — that it had pleased Providence to appoint our habitations 
nearer to each other. This is a life of wishes, and they only are 
happy who have arrived where wishes cannot enter. We shall 
live now in hope of a second meeting, and a longer interview ; 
w^hich, if it please God to continue to you, and to Mr. King, 
your present measure of health, you will be able, I trust, to con- 
trive hereafter. You did not leave us without encouragement 
to expect it ; and I know that you do not raise expectations but 
with a sincere design to fulfil them. 



328 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

Nothing shall be wanting;, on our part, to accomplish in due 
time a journey to Perton-hall. But 1 am a strange creature, who 
am less able than any man living to project any thing out of the 
common course, with a reasonable prospect of performance. 1 
have singularities, of which, 1 believe, at present you know 
nothing; antl which would till you with wonder, if you knew 
them. 1 will add, however, in justice to myself, that they would 
not lower me in your good opinion ; though, perhaps, tliey 
might tempt you to question tlie soundness of my upper story. 
Almost twenty years have I been thus unhappily circumstanced ; 
and the remedy is in the hand of God only. That I make you 
this partial communication on the subject, conscious, at tlie same 
time, that you are well worthy to be entrusted witli the whole, 
is merely because the recital would be too long for a letter, and 
painful both to me and to you. But all this may vanish in a 
moment ; and, if it please God, it shall. In the mean time, dear 
^fadam, remember me in your prayers, and mention me at those 
times, as one whom it has pleased God to afflict with singular 
visitations. 

How 1 regret, for poor Mrs. Unwin's sake, your distance ! 
She has no friend suitable as you to her disposition and charac- 
ter, in all the neighbourhood. Mr. King, too, is just the friend 
and companion witli whom 1 could be happy ; but such grow 
not in this country. Pray tell him that 1 remember him with 
much esteem and regard ; and, believe me, uiy dear Madam, 
with the sincerest afl'ection, 

Yours entirely. 



Wir.LTAM COWPEU. 320 



TO THE liEV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Aug. 11, 1790. 

That I may not seem unreasonably tardy in answering 
your last kind letter, I steal a few minutes from my customary 
morning business, (at present the translation of Mr. Van Licr's 
Narrative,) to inform you that I received it safe from the hands 
of Judith Hughes, whom we met in the middle of Hill-field. 
Desirous of gaining the earliest intelligence possible concerning 
Mrs. Newton, we were going to call on her, and she was on her 
way to us. It grieved us much that her news on that subject 
corresponded so little with our earnest wishes of Mrs. Newton's 
amendment. But if Dr. Benamer still gives hope of her recovery, 
it is not, I trust, without substantial reason for doing so; much 
less can I suppose that he would dp it contrary to his own per- 
suasions, because a thousand reasons that must influence, in such 
a case, the conduct of a humane and sensible physician, concur 
to forbid it. If it shall please God to restore her, no tidings will 
give greater jo}^ to us. In the mean time, it is our comfort to 
know, that in any event you will be sure of supports invaluable, 
and that cannot (a'\\ you ; though, at the same time, I know well, 
that, with your feelings, and especially on so affecting a subject, 
you will have need of the full exercise of all your faith and re- 
signation. To a greater trial no man can be called, than that 
of being a helpless eye-witness of the sufferings of one he loves, 
and loves tenderly. This I know by experience : but it is long 
since I had any experience of those communications from above, 
which alone can enable us to acquit ourselves, on such an occa- 
sion, as we ought. But it is otherwise with you, and I rejoice 
liat it is so. 
With respect to my own initiation into the secret of animal 

T t 



330 COHKKSPONDKNCE OF 

magnetism, I have a thousand doubts. Twice, as you know, I 
have been overwhehned with the blackest despair ; and at those 
times every thing in which I have been at any period of my 
life concerned, has afforded to the enemy a handle against me. 
I tremble, therefore, almost at every step 1 take, lest on some 
future similar occasion it should yield him opportunity, and 
furnish him with means to torment me. Decide for me, if you 
can ; and in the mean time, present, if you please, my respectful 
compliments and very best thanks to Mr. Hollovvay, for his most 
obliging offer. I am, perhaps, the only man living who would 
hesitate a moment, whether, on such easy terms, he should or 
should not accept it. But if he finds another like me, he will 
make a greater discovery than even that which he has already 
made of the principles of this wonderful art. For I take it for 
granted, that he is the gentleman whom you once mentioned to 
me as indebted only to his own penetration for the knowledge 
of it. 

I shall proceed, you may depend on it, with all possible dis- 
patch in your business. Had it fallen into my hands a few 
months later, I should have made quicker riddance; lor before 
the autumn shall be ended, I hope to have done with Homer. 
But my first morning hour or two (now and then a letter which 
must be written excepted) shall always be at your service till 
the whole is finished. 

Commending you and Mrs. Newton, with all the little power 
I have of that sort, to His fatherly and tender care in whom you 
have both believed, in which friendly office I am fervently 
joined by Mrs. Unwin, I remain, with our sincere love to you 
hoth, and to Miss Catlett, my dear friend, most affectionately 
yours, 

W. C 



William cowper. 331 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

My dear FRIEND, Sept. 17, 1790. 

I received last night a copy of my subscribers' names 
from Johnson, in which I see how much I have been indebted 
to yours and to Mrs. Hill's solicitations. Accept my best 
thanks, so justly due to you both. It is an illustrious catalogue, 
in respect of rank and title; but meihinks I should have liked 
it as well had it been more numerous. The sum subscribed 
however, will defray the expense of printing ; which is as much 
as, in these unsubscribing days, I had any reason to promise 
myself. I devoutly second your droll wish, that the booksellers 
may contend about me. The more the better. Seven times 
seven, if they please ; and let them fight with the fury of 
Achilles, 

Till ev'iy rubric-post be crimson'd o'er 
With blood of booksellers, in battle slain, 
For me, and not a periwig untorn. 



Most truly yours, 



w. c. 



TO MRS. KING. 

MY DEAR MADAM, Oct. 5, 1790. 

I am truly concerned that you have so good an excuse 
for your silence. Were it proposed to my choice, whether you 
should omit to write through illness or indifference to me, I should 
be selfish enough, perhaps, to find decision difficult for a few 
moments; but have such an opinion, ai the same time, of my 
affection for you, as to be veril^:^ persuaded that I should at last 



352 C()HRESPONl>KNCK OF 

make a ri2;lit option, and wish you ratlicr to Ibr^ifct me than tc 
be afllicted. But there is One, wiser and more your friend than 
I can possibly be, who appoints all your suflferings, and who, by 
a poAver altogether his own, is able to make them good for you. 
I wish heartily that my verses had been more worthy of the 
Counterpane, their subject. The gratitude I felt, when you 
brought it and gave it tome, might have inspired better; but 
a head full of Homer, I find, by sad experience, is good for 
little else. Lady Heskcth, who is here, has seen your gift, and 
pronounced it the most beautiful and best executed of the kind 
she ever saw. 

I have lately received from my bookseller a copy of my sub- 
scribers' names, and do not find among them the name of Mr. 
Professor Martyn. I mention it, because you informed me, 
some time since, of his kind intention to number himself among 
my encouragers on this occasion ; and because I am unwilling 
to lose, for want of speaking in time, the honour that his name 
will do me. It is possible, too, that he may have subscribed, 
and that his non-appearance may be owing merely to Johnson's 
having forgot to enter his name. Perhaps you will have an op- 
poi'tunity to ascertain the ■matter. The catalogue will be print- 
ed soon, and published in the Analytical Review, as the last 
and most ell'ectual way of advertising my Translation ; and the 
name of the gentleman in question will be particularly service- 
able to me in this first edition of it. 

My whole work is in the booksellers' hands, and ought by 
this time to be in the press. The next spring is the time ap- 
pointed for the publication. It is a genial season, when people 
who are ever good-tempered at ail, are sure to be so ; a circum- 
stance well worthy of an author's attention, especially of mine, 
who am just going to give a thump on the outside of the critics* 
hive, that will probably alarm them all. 



WILLIAM COWPER, 333 

Mrs. Unwin, I think, is on the whole rather improved in 
her health since we had the pleasure of your short visit ; 1 
should say, the pleasure of your visit, and the pain of its short- 
ness. 

I am, my dearest Madam, 
Most truly yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 15, 1790. 

We were surprised and grieved at Mrs. Scott's sudden 
departure ; grieved, you may suppose, not for her, but for him, 
whose loss, except that in God he has an all-sufficient good, is 
irreparable. The day of separation between those who have 
loved long and well, is an awful day, inasmuch as it calls the 
Christian's faith and submission to the severest trial. Yet I ac- 
count those happy, who, if they are severely tried, shall yet 
be supported, and be carried safely through. What would be- 
come of me on a similar occasion ! I have one comfort, and 
only one : bereft of that, I should have nothing left to lean on , 
for my spiritual props have long since been struck from under 
me. 

I have no objection at all to being known as the translator of 
Van Lier's Letters, when they shall be published. Rather, I 
am ambitious of it, as an honour. It will serve to prove, that if 
I have spent much time to little purpose in the translation of 
Homer, some small portion of my time has, however, been 
well disposed of 

The honour of your preface prefixed to my Poems will be 
en my side ; for surely, to be known as the friend of a much- 



334 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

favoured minister of God's word, is a more illustrious distinc- 
tion, in reality, than to have the friendship of any poet in the 
world to boast of. 

We s)'mpathize truly with you under all your tender concern 
for Mrs. Newton, and with her in all her sufferings from such 
various and discordant maladies. Alas ! what a difference have 
twenty-three years made in us, and in our condition ! for just 
so long it is since Mrs. Unwin and I came into Buckingham- 
shire. Yesterday was the anniversary of that memorable aera. 
Farewell. 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEW^TON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 26, 1790. 

We should have been happy to have received from you 
a more favourable account of Mrs. Newton's health. Yours is 
indeed a post of observation, and of observation the most in- 
terestino-. It is well that you are enabled to bear the stress and 
intenseness of it without prejudice to your own health, or im- 
pediment to your ministry. 

The last time I wrote to Johnson, I made known to him your 
wishes to have your preface printed, and affixed, as soon as an 
opportunity shall offer ; expressing, at the same time, my own 
desires to have it done. Whether I shall have any answer to 
my proposal, is a matter of much uncertainty; for he is al- 
ways either too idle or too busy, I know not which, to write 
to me. Should you happen to pass his way, periiaps it would 
not be amiss to speak to him on the subject ; for it is easier to 
carry a point by six words spoken, than by writing as many 
sheets about it. I have asked him hither, when my cousin 



WILLIAM COWPER. 335 

Johnson shall leave us, which will be in about a fortnight ; and 
should he come, will enforce the measure myself. 

A yellow shower of leaves is falling continually from all the 
trees in the country. A few moments only seem to have pass- 
ed since they were buds ; and in few moments more, they will 
have disappeared. It is one advantage of a rural situation, that 
it affords many hints of the rapidity with which life flies, that 
do not occur in towns and cities. It is impossible for a man, 
conversant with such scenes as surround me, not to advert daily 
to the shortness of his existence here, admonished of it, as he 
must be, by ten thousand objects. There was a time when I 
could contemplate my present state, and consider myself as a 
thing of a day with pleasure ; when I numbered the seasons as 
they passed in swift rotation, as a schoolboy numbers the days 
that interpose between the next vacation, when he shall see his 
parents and enjoy his home again. But to make so just an es- 
timate of a life like this, is no longer in my power. The con- 
sideration of my short continuance here, which was once grate- 
ful to me, now fills me with regret. I would live and live al- 
ways, and am become such another wretch as Maecenas was, 
who wished for long life, he cared not at what expense of suf- 
ferings. The only consolation left me on this subject is, that 
the voice of the Almighty can in one moment cure me of this 
mental infirmity. That He can, I know by experience ; and 
there are reasons for which I ought to believe that He will. 
But from hope to despair is a transition that I have made so 
often, that I can only consider the hope that may come, and 
that sometimes I believe will, as a short prelude of joy to a 
miserable conclusion of sorrow that shall never end. Thus are 
my brightest prospects clouded, and thus to me is hope itself 
become like a withered flower, that has lost both its hue and its 
fragrance. 



336 UORHESPONDENCE OF 

I ought not to have wiillcn in this disnnal strain to you in 
your present trying situation, nor did I intend it. You have 
more need to be cheered than to he saddened ; but a dearth of 
other themes constrained me to choose myself for a subject, and 
of myself I can write no otherwise. 

Adieu, my dear friend. We are well ; and, notwithstanding 
all that I have said, 1 am myself as cheerful as usual. Lady 
Hesketh is here, and in her company even I, except now and 
then for a moment, forget my sorrows. 

I remain sincerely yours. 

W. C. 



TO MRS. KING. 

MY DEAU MADAM, Nov. :9, 1790. 

I value highly, as I ought and hope tliat I always shall, 
the favourable opinion of such men as Mr. Marlyn : though, to 
sav the truth, their commendations, instead of making me proud, 
have rather a tendency to humble me, conscious as I am that I 
am over-rated. There is an old piece of advice, given by an 
ancient poet and satirist, which it behoves every man, who 
stands well in the opinion of others, to lay up in his bosom : — 
Take care to be ivhaf you are reported to be. By due at- 
tention to this wise counsel, it is possible to turn the praises of 
our friends to good account, and to convert that which might 
prove an incentive to vanity into a lesson of wisdom. I will 
keep your good and respectable friend's letter very safely, and 
restore it to you the first opportunity. 1 beg, my dear Madam, 
that you will present my best compliments to Mr. Martyn, 
when you shall either see him next or write to him. 

To that gentleman's enquiries I am, doubtless, obliged tor the 



WILLIAM COWPER. 337 

recovery of no small proportion of my subscription-list : for in 
consequence of his application to Johnson, and very soon after 
it, I received from him no fewer than forty -five names, that had 
been omitted in the last he sent me, and that would probably 
never have been thought of more. No author, I believe, has a 
more inattentive or indolent bookseller: but he has every body's 
good word for liberality and honesty ; therefore I must be con- 
tent. 

The press proceeds at present as well as I can reasonably 
wish. A month has passed since we began, and I revised this 
morning the first sheet of the sixth Iliad. Mrs. Unwin begs to 
add a line from herself, so that I have only room to subjoin 
my best respects to Mr. King, and to say that I am truly, 
My dear Madam, yours, 

W. G. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Dec. 5, 1790. 

Sometimes I am too sad, and sometimes too busy, to write. 
Both these causes have concurred lately to keep me silent. But 
more than by either of these I have been hindered, since I re- 
ceived your last, by a violent cold, which oppressed me during 
almost the whole month of November. 

Your letter affected us with both joy and sorrow : with sor- 
row and sympathy respecting poor Mrs. Newton, whose feeble 
and dying state suggests a wish for her release, rather than for 
her continuance ; and joy on your account, who are enabled to 
bear, with so much resignation and cheerful acquiescence in the 
will of God, the prospect of a loss, which even they who know 
you best apprehended might prove too much for you. As to 

u u 



338 CORUESPONDENCE OF 

Mrs. Ncwlon's interest in the best things, none, intimately ac- 
quainted with her as we have been, could doubt it. She doubt- 
ed it indeed herself; but though it is not our duty to doubt, 
any more than it is our privilege, 1 have always considered the 
self-condemning spirit, to which such doubts are principally 
owing, as one of the most favourable symptoms of a nature spi- 
ritually renewed, and have many a time heard you make the 
same observation. 

[Torn oj.] 



TO MRS. KING. 

MY DEAR MADAM, Dec. 31, 1790. 

Returning from my walk at half past three, I found 
your welcome messenger in the kitchen ; and entering the study, 
found also the beautiful present with which you had charged 
him.* We have all admired it (for Lady Hesketh was here to 
assist us in doing so ;) and for my own particular, I return you 
my sincerest thanks, a very inadequate compensation. Mrs. 
Unwin, not satisfied to send you thanks only, begs your accept- 
ance likewise of a turkey, which, though the figure of it might 
not much embellish a counterpane, may possibly serve hereafter 
to swell the dimensions of a feather bed, 

I have lately been visited with an indisposition much more 
formidable than that which I mentioned to you in my last — a 
nervous fever ; a disorder to which I am subject, and which I 
dread above all others, because it comes attended by a melan- 
choly perfectly insupportable. This is the first day of my com- 
plete recovery, the first in which I have perceived no symptoms 

* A patch-work counterpane of her own making. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 339 

of my terrible malady ; and the only drawback on this comfort 
that I feel is the intelligence contained in yours, that neither 
Mr. King nor yourself are well. I dread always, both for my 
own health and for that of my friends, the unhappy influences 
of a year worn out. But, my dear Madam, this is the last day 
of it ; and I resolve to hope that the new year shall obliterate all 
the disagreeables of the old one. I can wish nothing more 
warmly than that it may prove a propitious year to you. 

My poetical operations, I mean of the occasional kind, have 
lately been pretty much at a stand. I told you I believe, in my 
last, that Homer, in the present stage of the process, occupied 
me more intensely than ever. He still continues to do so, and 
threatens, till he shall be completely finished, to make all other 
composition impracticable. I have, however, written the mor- 
tuary verses as usual; but the wicked clerk for whom I write 
them has not yet sent me the impression. I transmit to you 
the long-promised Catharina ; and were it possible that 1 could 
transcribe the others, would send them also. There is a way, 
however, by which I can procure a frank, and you shall not 
want them long. 

I remain, dearest Madam, 

Ever yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Jan. 20, 1791. 

Had you been a man of this world, I should have held 
myself bound, by the law of ceremonies, to have sent you long 
since my tribute of condolence. I have sincerely mourned with 
you ; and though you have lost a wife, and I only a friend, yet 



340 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

do I understand too well the value of such a friend as Mrs. 
Newton, not to have sympathised with you very nearly. But 
you are not a man of this world ; neither can you, who have 
both the Scripture and the Giver of Scripture to console you, 
have any need of aid from others, or expect it from such spiri- 
tual imbecility as mine. I considered, likewise, that receiving 
a letter from Mrs. Unwin, you, in fact, received one from my- 
self, with this difference only, — that hers could not fail to be 
better adapted to the occasion, and to your own frame of mind, 
than any that I could send you. 

lTornoff.-\ 



TO MRS. KING. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, March 2, ir91. 

I am sick and ashamed of myself that I forgot my pro- 
mise ; but it is actually true that I did forget it. You, however, 
I did not forget ; nor did I forget to wonder and to be alarmed 
at your silence, being myself perfectly unconscious of my arrears. 
All this, together with various other trespasses of mine, must be 
set down to the account of Homer ; and wherever he is, he is 
bound to make his apology to all my correspondents, but to you 
in particular. True it is, that if Mrs. Unwin did not call me 
from that pursuit, 1 should forget, in the ardour with which I 
persevere in it, both to eat and drink and retire to rest. This 
zeal has increased in rne regularly as I have proceeded, and in 
an exact ratio, as a mathematician would say, to the progress I 
have made toward the point at which I have been aiming. You 
will believe this, when I tell you, that, not contented with my 
previous labours, I have actually revised the whole work, and 
have made a thousand alterations in it, since it has been in the 



WILLIAM COWPEK. 341 

press. I have now, however, tolerably well satisfied myself at 
least, and trust that the printer and I shall trundle along merrily 
to the conclusion. I expect to correct the proof-sheets of the 
third book of the Odyssey to-day. 

Thus it is, as 1 believe I have said to you before, that you are 
doomed to hear of nothing but Homer from me. There is less 
of gallantry than of nature in this proceeding. When I write 
to you, I think of nothing but the subject that is uppermost, and 
that uppermost is always Homer. Then I consider that though, 
as a lady, you have a right to expect other treatment at my 
hands, you are a lady who has a husband, and that husband an 
old schoolfellow of mine, and who, I know, interests himself in 
my success. 

I am likely, after all, to gather a better harvest of subscribers 
at Cambridge than I expected. A little cousin of mine, an under- 
graduate of Caius' College, suggested to me, when he was here 
in the summer, that it might not be amiss to advertise the work 
at Merril's the bookseller. I acquiesced in the measure ; and 
at his return he pasted me on a board, and hung me in the shop, 
as it has proved in the event, much to my emolument. For 
many, as I understand, have subscribed in consequence, and 
among the rest several of the College libraries. 

I am glad that you have seen the last Northampton dirge, for 
the rogue of a clerk sent me only half the number of printed 
copies for which I stipulated with him at first, and they were all 
expended immediately. The poor man himself is dead now; 
and whether his successor will continue me in my office, or seek 
another laureat, has not yet transpired. 

I began with being ashamed, and I must end with being so. 
I am ashamed that, when I wrote by your messenger, I omitted 
to restore to you Mr. JVIartyn's letter. But it is safe, and shall 
be yours again. I am truly sorry that you have suflfered so much 



34t CORRESPONDENCE OF 

this winter by your old complaint the rheumatism. We shall 
both, I hope, be better in a better season, now not very distant; 
for I have never, myself, been free from my fever since the 
middle of January ; neither do 1 expect to be released, till sum> 
mer shall set me free. 

I am, dear Madam, 

Affectionately yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, March 29, 1791. 

It affords me sincere pleasure that you enjoy serenity of 
mind after your great loss. It is well in all circumstances, even 
in the most afflictive, with those who have God for their com- 
forter. You do me justice in giving entire credit to my ex- 
pressions of friendship for you. No day passes in which I do 
not look back to the days that are fled ; and consequently, none 
in which I do not feel myself affectionately reminded of you, and 
of her whom you have lost for a season. I cannot even see Olney 
spire from any of the fields in the neighbourhood, much less caa 
I enter the town, and still less the Vicarage, without experienc- 
ing the force of those mementos, and recollecting a multitude of 
pass^es, to which you and yours were parties. 

The past would appear a dream, were the remembrance of it 
less affecting. It was in the most important respects so unlike 
my present moment, that I am sometimes almost tempted to 
suppose it a dream. But the difference between dreams and 
realities long since elapsed seems to consist chiefly in this, — that 
a dream, however painful or pleasant at the time, and perhaps 
for a few ensuing hours, passes like an arrow through the air. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 343 

leaving no trace of its flight behind it ; but our actual experi- 
ences make a lasting impression. We review those which inte- 
rested us much, when they occurred, with hardly less interest 
than in the first instance ; and whether few years or many have 
intervened, our sensibility makes them still present ; such a 
mere nullity is time, to a creature to whom God gives a feeling 
heart and the faculty of recollection. 

That you have not the first sight, and sometimes, perhaps, 
have a late one, of what I write, is owing merely to your distant 
situation. Some things I have written not worth your perusal ; 
and a few, a very few, of such length, that, engaged as I have 
been to Homer, it has not been possible that I should find oppor- 
tunity to transcribe them. At the same time, Mrs. Unwinds 
pain in her side has almost forbidden her the use of the pen. 
She cannot use it long without increasing that pain ; for which 
reason I am more unwilling than herself that she should ever 
meddle with it. But, whether what I write be a trifle, or whe- 
ther it be serious, you would certainly, were you present, see 
them all. Others get a sight of them, by being so, who would 
never otherwise see them ; and I should hardly withhold them 
from you, whose claim upon me is of so much older a date than 
theirs. It is not, indeed, with readiness and good-will that I 
give them to any body ; for, if I live, I shall probably print them ; 
and my friends, who are previously well acquainted with them, 
will have the less reason to value the book in which they shall 
appear. A trifle can have nothing to recommend it but its no- 
velty. I have spoken of giving copies ; but, in fact, I have given 
none. They who have them made them ; for, till my whole work 
shall have fairly passed the press, it will not leave me a moment 
more than is necessarily due to my correspondents. Their num- 
ber has of late increased upon me, by the addition of many of 
my maternal relations, who, having found me out about a year 



344 CORRESPONDENCE OK 

since, have behaved to me in the most affectionate manner, and 
have been singularly serviceable to me in the article of my sub- 
scription. Several of them are coming from Norfolk to visit me 
in the course of the summer. 

I enclose a copy of my last mortuary verses. The clerk, for 
whom they were written, is since dead ; and whether his suc- 
cessor, the late sexton, will choose to be his own dirge-maker, 
or will employ me, is a piece of important news which has not 
yet reached me. 

Our best remembrances attend yourself and Miss Catlett,* 
and we rejoice in the kind Providence that has given you, in 
her, so amiable and comfortable a companion. 

Adieu, my dear friend — I am sincerely yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, June 24, 1791. 

Considering the multiplicity of your engagements, and 
the importance, no doubt, of most of them, I am bound to set 
the higher value on your letters ; and instead of grumbling that 
they come seldom, to be thankful to you that they come at all. 
You are now going into the country, where, I presume, you 
will have less to do ; and I am rid of Homer. Let us try, 
therefore, if in the interval between the present hour and the next 
busy season, (for I, too, if I live, shall be probably occupied 
again,) we can continue to exchange letters more frequently 
than for some time past. 

You do justice to me and Mrs. Unwin., when you assure 

• Now Mrs. Smith. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 345 

yourself that to hear of your health will give us pleasure : I 
know not, in truth, whose health and well-being could give us 
more. The years that we have seen together will never be out 
of our remembrance; and so long as we remember them, we 
must remember you with affection. In the pulpit, and out of 
the pulpit, you have laboured in every possible way to serve 
us ; and we must have a short memory indeed for the kindness 
of a friend, could we, by any means, become forgetful of 
yours. It would grieve me more than it does, to hear you 
complain of the effects of time, were not I also myself the sub- 
ject of them. While he is wearing out you, and other dear 
friends of mine, he spares not me ; for which I ought to ac- 
count myself obliged to him, since I should otherwise be in 
danger of surviving all that I have over loved — the most melan- 
choly lot that can befal a mortal. God knows what will be my 
doom hereafter ; but precious as life necessarily seems to a 
mind doubtful of its future happiness, T love not the world, I 
trust, so much as to wish a place in it when all my beloved shall 
have left it. 

You speak of your late loss in a manner that affected me 
much; and when I read that part of your letter, I mourned 
with you, and for you. But surely, I said to myself, no man 
had ever less reason to charge his conduct to a wife with any 
thing blame-worthy. Thoughts of that complexion, however, 
are no doubt extremely natural on the occasion of such a loss ; 
and a man seems not to have valued sufficiently, when he pos- 
sesses it no longer, what, while he possessed it, he valued more 
than life. I am mistaken, too, or you can recollect a time when 
you had fears, and such as became a Christian, of loving too 
much ; and it is likely that you have even prayed to be pre- 
served from doing so. I suggest this to you as a plea against 
those self-accusations, which I ana satisfied that you do not de- 

X X 



346 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

serve, and as an effectual answer lo them all. You may do 
well, too, to consider, that had the deceased been the survivor, 
she would have charsjed herself in the same manner; and I am 
sure you will acknowledge, without any sufficient reason. The 
truth is, that you both loved at least as much as you ought, and 
I dare say had not a friend in the world who did not frequently 
observe it. To love just enough, and not a bit too much, is not 
for creatures who can do nothing well. If we fail in duties 
less arduous, how should we succeed in this, the most arduous 
of all ? 

I am glad to learn from yourself that you are about to quit a 
scene that probably keeps your tender recollections too much 
alive. Another place and other company may have their uses; 
and while your church is undergoing repair, its minister may 
be repaired also. 

As to Homer, I am sensible that, except as an amusement, 
he was never worth my meddling with ; but, as an amusement, 
he was to me invaluable. As such, he served me more than 
five years ; and, in that respect, I know not where I shall find 
his equal. You oblige me by saying, that you will read him 
for my sake. I verily think that any person of a spiritual turn 
may read him to some advantage. He may suggest reflections 
that may not be unserviceable even in a sermon ; for I know 
not where we can find more striking exemplars of the pride, 
the arrogance, and the insignificance of man ; at the same time 
that, by ascribing all events to a divine interposition, he incul- 
cates constantly the belief of a Providence ; insists much on the 
duty of charity towards the poor and the stranger ; on the re- 
spect that is due to superiors, and to our seniors in particular ; 
and on the expedience and necessity of prayer and piety toward 
the gods; a piety mistaken, indeed, in its object, but exemplary 
for the punctuality of its performance. Thousands, who will 



WILLIAM COWPER. 347 

not learn from Scripture to ask a blessing either on their ac- 
tions or on their food, may learn it, if they please, from 
Homer. 

My Norfolk cousins are now with us. We are both as well 
as usual; and with our affectionate remembrances to Miss 
Catlett, 

T remain, sincerely yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, July 22, 179L 

I did not foresee, when I challenged you to a brisker 
correspondence, that a new engagement of all my leisure was at 
hand ; — a new, and yet an old one. An interleaved copy of my 
Homer arrived soon after from Johnson, in which he recom- 
mended it to me to make any alterations that might yet be ex- 
pedient, with a view to another impression. The alterations 
that I make are indeed but few, and they are also short ; not 
more, perhaps, than half a line in two thousand. But the lines 
are, I suppose, nearly forty thousand in all ; and to revise them 
critically must consequently be a work of labour. I suspend 
it, however, for your sake, till the present sheet be filled, and 
that I may not seem to shrink from my own offer. 

Mr. Bean has told me that he saw you at Bedford, and gave 
us your reasons for not coming our way. It is well, so far as your 
own comfortable lodging and our gratification were concerned, 
that you did not; for our house is brimful, as it has been all the 
summer, with my relations from Norfolk. We should all have 
been mortified, both you and we, had you been obliged, as you 
must have been, to seek a residence elsewhere. 



348 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

I am sorry that Mr. Venn's labours below are so near to a 
conclusion. I have seen few men whom I could have loved 
more, had opportunity been given me to know him better. So, 
at least, I have thought as often as I have seen him. But when 
I saw him last, which is some years since, he appeared then so 
much broken, that I could not have imagined he would last so 
long. Were I capable of envying, in the strict sense of the 
word, a good man, I should envy him, and Mr. Berridge, and 
yourself; who have spent, and, while they last, will continue to 
spend your lives, in the service of the only Master worth serv- 
ing ; labouring always for the souls of men, and not to tickle 
their ears, as I do. But this I can say — God knows how much 
rather I would be the obscure tenant of a lath-and-plaster cot- 
tage, with a lively sense of my interest in a Redeemer, than this 
most admired object of public notice without it. Alas ! what is 
a whole poem, even one of Homer's, compared with a single 
aspiration that finds its way immediately to God, though cloth- 
ed in ordinary language, or perhaps not articulated at all. These 
are my sentiments as much as ever they were, though my days 
are all running to waste among Greeks and Trojans. The night 
cometh when no man can work ; and if I am ordained to work 
to better purpose, that desirable period cannot be very distant. 
My day is beginning to shut in, as every man's must, who is on 
the verge of sixty. 

All the leisure that I have had of late for thinking has been 
given to the riots at Birmingham. What a horrid zeal for the 
church, and what a horrid loyalty to government, have manifest- 
ed themselves there ! How little do they dream that they could 
not have dishonoured their idol the Establishment more, and 
that the! great Bishop of souls himself with abhorrence rejects 
their service ! But I have not time to enlarge ; breakfast calls 



WILLIAM COWPER. 349 

me ; and all my post-breakfast time must be given to poetry. 
Adieu ! 

Most truly yours, 

W. C, 



TO MRS. KING. 

MY DEAR MADAM, Aug. 4, 1791. 

Your last letter, wbich gave us so unfavourable an ac- 
count of your health, and which did not speak much more com- 
fortably of Mr. King's, affected us with much concern. Of Dr. 
Raitt we may say in the words of Milton : 

His long experience did attain 

To something like prophetic strain ; 

for as he foretold to you, so he foretold to Mrs. Unwin, that, 
though her disorders might not much threaten life, they would 
yet cleave to her to the last ; and she and perfect health must 
ever be strangers to each other. Such was his prediction, and 
it has been hitherto accomplished. Either head-ache or pain in 
the side has been her constant companion ever since we had the 
pleasure of seeing you. As for myself, I cannot properly say 
that I enjoy a good state of health, though in general I have it, 
because I have it accompanied with frequent fits of dejection, to 
which less health and better spirits would, perhaps, be infinitely 
preferable. But it pleased God that I should be born in a coun- 
try where melancholy is the national characteristic. To say 
truth, I have often wished myself a Frenqhman. 

N. B. I write this in very good spirits. 

You gave us so little hope in your last that we should have 
your company this summer at Weston, that to repeat our invi- 



350 COKKESi'ONnF.NC'K DF 

tation seems almost like toasini;- you. 1 will only say. their- 
fore, that my -Norfolk tVieiuls havinir lett us, ot' whose expected 
anival here 1 believe 1 told you in a former letter, we should 
be happv coidil you succeed them. Wo now, indeed, expect 
Lady llesketh, hut not immediately : she seldom sees Weston 
till oil its sununer beauties aiY tied, and red, broun, and yellow. 
have supplanted the univei-sal veixluie. 

Mv Homer is gone forth, and 1 can devoutly s;\v — Jov go 
with it I What place it holils in the estunation ot" the generality, 
1 cannot tell, having heaiil no more about it. since its publica- 
tion than it" no such work existeil. 1 must except, however, an 
anonym(>us eulogium l"i'om some man of letters, which 1 reeeiv- 
eil about a week agx>. It was kind in a perfect stranger, as he 
avows himself to be, to relieve me, at so early a day , fi-om much 
oi' the anxiety that 1 could not but tet^l on such an occ;\sion. I 
sliould be glad to know who he is, only that 1 might thank him. 

Mi-s. I'nwin. who is this moment como down to breaktast, 
joins me iu atVectionate compliments to youi"self and Mr. King; 
ai\d I am, my dear Madam, 

Most sincerely yours. 

W. C. 



rO THE REV MU. KlNi;. 

UEAK StK. ^^P<- '-«>' 1^1 

We are truly concerned at your account of Mrs. King's 
severe indis^K>sition ; anil though you hud no Injlter news to 
tell us, are niuch obligtxl to you for writing to inform us of it, 
and to Mrs. King for desiring you to <\o it. We lake a Uvdy 
interest in what concerns her. 1 should never have ascribed 
her silence to neglect, had she neither written to me hei-self. 



WILLIAM COWTKU. 351 

nor coniinissioiuHl vou (o write lor hor. 1 liail. indotnl. lor sump 
time expootcd a letter tVom iter by every post, hut aoeounteil 
for my coutimml disappointment by supposiui*; her at l^.ili»;\vare, 
to whicli phice she inteiuied a visit, as she toKl me hinj;- sineo, 
anil liopetl that she uouUI write immeduilely on iier return. 

Her sutVerins;-s will be felt here till wo learn that they "'C re- 
moved ; for which reason we shall bo muoli obliged by the ear- 
liest notice of her recovery, which we most sincerely wish, it 
it please God. ;ind which will not tail to be a constant snbject 
of prayer at \N"eston. 

1 beg* you. Sir, to present Mrs. Ihnvinis ami my atlectionate 
remembrances to Mrs. Kinu;, in which you are equally a parta- 
ker, and to believe me, with true esteem ami much sincerity. 

Yours, 

W. C. 



TO MUS, KINC. 

MY DKAli FUll.Nn. Oct. Jl. 1791. 

\ ou could not have sent me more agreeable news than 
that of your better healtii, and I am gi^eatly obligetl to yon for 
making me the first of yonr correspondents to wliom you have 
given that welcome intelligence. This is a favour which 1 should 
have acknowledged much sooner, bad not a disorder in my eyes, 
to which I have always been extremely subject, requireil that I 
shoukl make as little use of my pen as j)ossible. 1 felt mucli 
for you. when 1 reatl that part of your letter in which you men- 
tion your visitors, and the fatigue which, indisposed as you have 
been, they could not tail to occasion you. Agreeable as you 
woulil have found them aL another time, and ba|)py as you 
would have been in their company, you could not but feel the 



352 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

addition they necessarily made to your domestic attentions as a 
considerable inconvenience. But I have always said, and shall 
never say otherwise, that if patience under adversity, and sub- 
mission to the afflicting hand of God, be true fortitude — which 
no reasonable person can deny — then your sex have ten times 
more true fortitude to boast than ours ; and I have not the least 
doubt that you carried yourself with infinitely more equanimity 
on that occasion than I should have done, or any he of my ac- 
quaintance. Why is it, since the first offender on earth was a wo- 
man, that the women are nevertheless, in all the most important 
points, superior to t^p men ? That they are so, I will not allow 
to be disputed, having observed it ever since I was capable of 
making the observation. I believe, on recollection, that when 
I had the happiness to see you here, we agitated this question a 
little ; but I do not remember that we arrived at any decision 
of it. The Scripture calls you the weaker vessels ; and perhaps 
the best solution of the difficulty, therefore, may be found in 
those other words of Scripture — My strength is perfected in 
weakness. Unless you can furnish me with a better key than 
this, I shall be much inclined to believe that I have found the 
true one. 

I am deep in a new literary engagement, being retained by 
my bookseller as editor of an intended most magnificent publi- 
cation of Milton's Poetical Works. This will occupy me as 
much as Homer did for a year or two to come; and when I 
have finished it, I shall have run through all the degrees of my 
profession, as author, translator, and editor. I know not that a 
fourth could be found ; but if a fourth can be found, I dare say 
I shall find it. 

I remain, ^ny dear Madam, your affectionate friend and hum- 
hie servant. 

W. C. 



WILLIAM COWPEH. ♦ 353 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



UY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 16, 1791. 

I am weary of making you wait for an answer, and 
therefore resolve to send you one, though without the lines you 
ask for. Such as they are, they have been long ready ; and 
could I have found a conveyance for them, should have been 
with you weeks ago. Mr. Bean's last journey to town 
might have afforded me an opportunity to send them ; but he 
gave me not sufficient notice. They must, therefore, be still 
delayed, till either he shall go to London again, or somebody 
else shall offer. I thank you for yours, which are as much bet- 
ter than mine, as gold is better than feathers. 

It seemed necessary that I should account for my apparent 
tardiness to comply with the obliging request of a lady, and of 
a lady who employed you as her intermedium. None was 
wanted, as yon well assured her. But had there been occasion 
for one, she could not possibly have found a better. 

I was much pleased with your account of your visit to Cow- 
slip Green ; both for the sake of what you saw there, and because 
I am sure you must have been as happy in such company, as any 
situation in this world can make you. Miss More has been 
always employed, since I first heard of her doings, as becomes 
a Christian. So she was, while endeavouring to reform the un- 
reformable great ; and so she is, while framing means and oppor- 
tunities to instruct the more tractable little. Horace's Virgini- 
bus, puerisque, may be her motto ; but in a sense much nobler 
than he has annexed to it. I cannot, however, be entirely re- 
conciled to the thought of her being henceforth silent, though 
even for the sake of her present labours. A pen useful as hers 
Qught not, perhaps, to be laid aside ; neither, perhaps, will she 

Y y 



J54 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

alt02;ether renounce it, but when she has established her 
schools, and habituated them to the discipline she intends, will 
find it desirable to resume it. — 1 rejoice that she has a sister like 
herself, capable of bidding defiance to fatigue and hardship, to 
dirty roads and wet raiment, in so excellent a cause. 

I beg that when you write next, to either of those ladles, you 
will present my best compliments to Miss Martha, and tell her that 
I can never feel myself flattered more than I was by her appli- 
cation. God knows how unworthy I judge myself, at the same 
time, to be admitted into a collection* of which you are a 
member. Were there not a crowned head or two to keep me 
in countenance, I should even blush to think of it. 

I would that I could see some of the mountains which you 
have seen ; especially, because Dr. Johnson has pronounced that 
no man is qualified to be a poet who has never seen a mountain. 
But mountains I shall never see, unless, perhaps, in a dream, or 
unless there are such in heaven. Nor those, unless I receive 
twice as much mercy as ever yet was shown to any man. 

I am now deep in Milton, translating his Latin Poems for a 
pompous edition, of which you have undoubtedly heard. This 
amuses me for the present, and will for a year or two. So long. 
I presume, I shall be occupied in the several functions that be 
long to my present engagement. 

Mrs. Unwin and I arc about as well as usual; always mindful 
of you, and always affectionately so. Our united love attends 
yourself and Miss Catlett. 

Believe me most truly youi-s, 

W. C 

* Of autographs 



WILI-IAM COWPER. 355 



TO MRS. KING. 

MY DEAR MADAM, Jan. 26, 1792 

Silent as I have long been, I have had but too good a 
reason for being so. About six weeks since, Mrs. Unwin was 
seized with a sudden and most alarming disorder, a vertigo, 
which would have thrown her out of her chair to the ground, 
had I not been quick enough to catch her while she was falling. 
For some moments her knees and ancles were so entirely disa- 
bled, that she had no use of them ; and it was with the exertion 
of all my strength that I replaced her in her seat. Many days 
she kept her bed, and for some weeks her chamber ; but, at 
length, has joined me again in the study. Her recovery has 
been extremely slow, and she is still feeble ; but, I thank God, 
not so feeble but that I hope for her perfect restoration as the 
spring advances. I am persuaded that, with your feelings for 
your friends, you will know how to imagine what I must have 
suffered on an occasion so distressing, and to pardon a silence 
owing to such a cause. 

The account you give me of the patience with which a lady 
of your acquaintance has lately endured a terrible operation, is 
a strong proof that your sex surpasses ours in heroic fortitude. 
I call it by that name, because I verily believe that, in God's 
account, there is more true heroism in suffering His will with 
meek submission, than in doing our own, or that of our fellow- 
mortals who may have a right to command us, with the utmost 
valour that was ever exhibited in a field of battle. Renown 
and glory are, in general, the incitements to such exertion ; but 
no laurels are to be won by sitting patiently under the knife of 
a surgeon. The virtue, is therefore, of a less suspicious charac- 



356 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

ter; the principle of it more simple, and the practice more diffi- 
cult : — considerations that seem sufficiently to warrant my opi- 
nion, that the infallible Judge of human conduct may possibly 
behold with more complacency a suffering, than an active 
courage. 

I forget if I told you that I am engaged for a new edition 
of Milton's Poems. In fact I have still other engagements ; 
and so various, that I hardly know to which of them all 
to give my first attentions. I have only time, therefore, to 
condole with you on the double loss you have lately sus- 
tained, and to congratulate you on being a female; because, as 
such, you will, I trust, acquit yourself well under so severe 
a trial. 

I remain, 

my dear Madam, 

Most sincerely yours, 

W. C 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Feb. 20, 1792. 

When I wrote the lines in question, I was, as I almost 
always am, so pressed for time, that I was obliged to put them 
down in a great hurry. Perhaps I printed them wrong. If a 
full stop be made at the end of the second line, the appearance 
of inconsistency, perhaps, will vanish ; but should you still 
think them liable to that objection, they may be altered 
thus : — 



WILLIAM COWPER. 357 

In vain to Vive from age to age 

We modern bards endeavour ; 
But write in Patty's book one page,* 

You gain your point for ever. 

Trifling enough, I readily confess they are ; but I have al- 
ways allowed myself to trifle occasionally ; and on this occasion 
had not, nor have at present, time to do more. By the way, 
should you think this amended copy worthy to displace the for- 
mer, I must wait for some future opportunity to send you them 
properly transcribed for the purpose. 

Your demand of more original composition from me, will, if 
I live, and it please God to afford me health, in all probability be 
sooner or later gratified. In the mean time, you need not, and 
if you turn the matter in your thoughts a little, you will per- 
ceive that you need not, think me unworthily employed in 
preparing a new edition of Milton. His two principal poems 
are of a kind that call for an editor who believes the gospel, and 
is well grounded in all evangelical doctrine. Such an editor 
they have never had yet, though only such a one can be quali- 
fied for the office. 

We mourn for the mismanagement at Botany Bay, and fore- 
see the issue. The Romans were, in their origin, banditti ; 
and if they became in time masters of the world, it was not by 
drinking grog, and allowing themselves in all sorts of licen- 

* In the third volume of the Poems, the lines stand thus, on a farther 
suggestion of Lady Hesketh : — 

In vain to live from age to age, 

While modern bards endeavour, 
/ write my name in Patty's page, 

And gain my point for ever. 

V^'. COWPEB. 

»arch 6, 1792. 



356 COKRESPONDENCE OF 

tioiisness. The African colonization, and the manner ol con- 
ducting it, has long been matter to us ol" pleasing speculation. 
God has highly honoured Mr. Thornton ; and I doubt not that 
the subsequent history of the two settlements will strikingly 
evince the superior wisdom of his proceedings. 

Yours, 

W. C. 

P.S. Lady Hesketh made the same objection to my verses 
as you ; but she being a lady-critic, I did not heed her. As 
they stand at present, however, they are hers ; and I believe 
you will think tlieni much improved. 

INly heart bears me witness how glad I shall be to see you at 
the time you mention ; and Mrs. Unwin says the same. 



10 THE KEV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MV UEAU FKIENU, M.<»rcli 4, 179:. 

All our little world is going to London, tlie gulph thai 
swallows most of our good things, and, like a bad stomach, too 
often assimilates them to itself. Our neighbours at the Hall go 
thither to-morrow. Mr. and Mrs. Throckmorton, as we lately 
called them, but now Sir John and my Lady, are no longer in- 
habitants here, but henceforth of Bucklands, in Berkshire. I 
feel the loss of them, and shall feel it, since kinder or more 
friendly treatment I never can receive at any liands, than I have 
always found at theirs. But it has long been a foreseen change, 
and was, indeed, almost daily expected long before it happen- 
ed. The desertion of the Hall, however, will not bo total. 
The second brother, George, now Mr. Courtenay,* intends to 

• And since. Sir George Tlirockniorton. 



WILIJAM COWPEH. 359 

eside Ihere; and with him, as witli his elder brother, I have 
always been on terms the most agreeable. 

Such is this variable scene: so variable, that, had tlie reflec- 
tions I sometimes make upon it a permanent influence, I should 
tremble at the thought of a new connection ; and, to be out of 
the reach of its mutability, lead almost the life of a hermit. It 
is well with those who, like you, have God for their compa- 
nion. Death cannot deprive them of Him, and he changes not 
the place of his abode. Other changes, therefore, to them arc 
all supportable ; and what you say of your own experience is 
the strongest possible proof of it. Had you lived without God, 
you could not have endured the loss you mention. May He 
preserve me from a similar one ; at least, till he shall be pleased 
to draw me to himself again ! Then, if ever that day come, it 
will make me equal to any burthen ; but at present T can bear 



nothing well. 



I am sincerely yours, 

W. V 



TO MRS. KING. 

klY DEAR MADAM, March 8, 1792. 

Having just finished all my Miltonic translations, and 
not yet begun my comments, I find an interval that cannot be 
better employed than in discharging arrears due to my corre- 
spondents, of whom I begin first a letter to you, though your 
claim be of less ancient standing than those of all the rest. 

I am extremely sorry that you have been so much indisposed, 
and especially that your indisposition has been attended with 
such excessive pain. But may I be permitted to observe, that 
your going to church on Christmas-day, immediately after such 



y(30 CORKESPONDENCE OF 

a sharp fit of rheumatism, was not according to the wisdom with 
which I believe you to be endued, nor was it acting so charita- 
bly toward yourself as I am persuaded you would have acted 
toward another. To another you would, I doubt not, have sug- 
gested that text — " I will have mercy and not sacrifice," — as 
implying a gracious dispensation, in circumstances like yours, 
from the practice of so severe and dangerous a service. 

Mrs. Unwin, I thank God, is better; but still wants much of 
complete restoration. We have reached a time of life when 
heavy blows, if not fatal, are at least long felt. 

I have received many testimonies concerning my Homer. 
which do me much honour, and afford me great satisfaction ; 
but none from which I derive, or have reason to derive, more 
than that of Mr. Martyn. It is of great use to me, when I write, 
to suppose some such person at my elbow, witnessing what I 
do ; and I ask myself frequently — Would this please him ? If I 
think it would, it stands : if otherwise, I alter it. My work is 
thus finished, as it were, under the eye of some of the best 
judges, and has the better chance to win their approbation when 
they actually see it. 

I am, my dear Madam, 

Affectionately yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, March 18, 1793. 

We are now once more reduced to our dual state, hav- 
ing lost our neighbours at the Hall, and our inmate Lady Hes- 
keth. Mr. Rose, indeed, has spent two or three days here, and 
is still with us; but he leaves us in the afternoon. There are 



WILLIAM COWPEH. 361 

ihose in the world whom we love, and whom we are happy to 
see ; but we are happy likwise in each other, and so far inde- 
pendent of our fellow-mortals, as to be able to pass our time 
comfortably without them : — as comfortably, at least, as Mrs. 
Unwin's frequent indispositions, and my no less frequent trou- 
bles of mind, will permit. When I am much distressed, any 
company but hers distresses me more, and makes me doubly 
sensible of my suflferings ; though sometimes, I confess, it falls out 
otherwise; and by the help of more general conversation, I re- 
cover that elasticity of mind which is able to resist the pressure. 
— On the whole, I believe I am situated exactly as I should wish 
to be, were my situation to be determined by my own election : 
and am denied no comfort that is compatible with the total ab- 
sence of the chief of all. 

W called on me, I forget when, but about a year ago. 

His errand was to obtain from me a certificate of his good be- 
haviour during the time he had lived with us. His conduct 
in our service had been such, for sobriety and integrity, as en- 
titled him to it ; and I readily gave him one. At the same time, 
I confess myself not at all surprised that the family to which 
you recommended him soon grew weary of him. He had a bad 
temper, that always sat astride on a runaway tongue, and ceased 
not to spur and to kick it into all the sin and mischief that such 
an ungovernable member, so ridden, was sure to fall into. 
Whether he be a Christian, or not, is no business of mine to 
determine. There was a time when he seemed to have Chris- 
tian experience, and there has been a much longer time in which, 
liis attendance on ordinances excepted, he has manifested, I 
doubt, no one symptom of the Christian character. Prosperit}' 
did him harm ; adversity, perhaps, may do him good. 1 wish 
it may ; and if he be indeed .a pupil of divine grace, it ccrtainlv 

z z 



362 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

will, when he has been sufficiently exercised with it; of which 
he seems, at present, to have a very promising prospect. 
Adieu, my dear friend. I remain affectionately yours, 

W. C. 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, April 15, 1792. 

I thank you for your remittance; which, to use the lan- 
guage of a song much in use when we were boys, 

Adds fresh beauties to the spring, 
And makes all nature look more gay. 

What the author of the song had particularly in view when he 
thus sang, I know not ; but probably it was not the sum of fifty 
pounds ; which, as probably, he never had the happiness to 
possess. It was, most probably, some beautiful nymph, — beau- 
tiful in his eyes, at least, — who has long since become an old 
woman. 

I have heard about my wether mutton from various quarters. 
First, from a sensible little man, curate of a neighbouring village ;* 
then from Walter Bagot ; then from Henry Cowper ; and now 
from you. It was a blunder hardly pardonable in a man who 
has lived amid fields and meadows, grazed by sheep, almost 
these thirty years. I have accordingly satirized myself in two 
stanzas which I composed last night, while I lay awake, tor- 
mented with pain, and well dosed with laudanum. If you find 
them not very brilliant, therefore, you will know how to account 
for it. 

* Rev. John liuchanan 



WILLIAM COVVPER. 363 

Cowper had sinn'd with some excuse, 

If, bound in rhyming tethers, 
He had committed this abuse 

Of changing ewes for wethers ; 

But, male for female is a trope, 

Or rather bold misnomer, 
That would have startled even Pope, 

When he translated Homer. 

Having translated all the Latin and Italian Miltonics, I was 
proceeding merrily with a Commentary on the Paradise Lost, 
when I was seized, a week since, with a most tormenting dis- 
order ; which has qualified me, however, to make some feeling 
observations on that passage, when I shall come to it : 

HI fare our ancestor impure. 



For this we may thank Adam ; — and you may thank him, too, 
that I am not able to fill my sheet, nor endure a writing posture 
any longer. I conclude abruptly, therefore ; but sincerely sub- 
scribing myself, with my best compliments to Mrs. Hill, 
Your affectionate 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. WILLIAM BULL. 

MY DEAR MR. BULL, July 25, 1792. 

Engaged as I have been ever since I saw you, it was not 
possible that I should v^'rite sooner ; and busy as I am at pre- 
sent, ii is not without difficulty that I can write even now: but 
I promised you a letter, and must endeavour, at least, to be as 
good as my word. How do you imagine I have been occupied 



364 COKRESPONDENCE Ol 

these last ten days ? In silting, not on cockatrice eggs, nor yet 
to gratify a mere idle Iiumour, nor because I was too sick to 
move ; but because my cousin Johnson has an aunt who has a 
longing desire of my picture, and because he would, therefore, 
bring a painter from London to draw it. For this purpose I 
have been sitting, as I say, these ten days; and am heartily glad 
that my sitting time is over. You have now, I know, a burning 
curiosity to learn two things, which I may choose whether I will 
lell you or not. First, who was the painter ; and secondly, how 
])e has succeeded. The painter's name is Abbot. You never 
heard of him, you say. It is very likely ; but there is, never- 
theless, such a painter, and an excellent one he is. Multa 
sunt quse bonus Beriiai'dus ncc vidit, Jiec audivit. To your 
second enquiry I answer, that he has succeeded to admiration. 
The likeness is so strong, that when my friends enter the room 
where the picture is, they start, astonished to see me where they 
know I am not. Miserable man that you are, to be at Brighton 
instead of being here, to contemplate this prodigy of art, v/htch,^ 
therefore, you can never sec; for it goes to London next Mon- 
day, to be suspended awhile at Abbot'e; and then proceeds into 
Norfolk, where it will be suspended for ever. 

But the picture is not tlie only prodigy I have to tell you of. 
A greater belongs to m6 ; and one that you will hardly credit, 
even on my own testimony. We are on the eve of a journey, 
and a long one. On this very day se'nnight we set out for 
Eartham, the seat of my brother bard, Mr. Hay ley, on the other 
side of London, nobody knows where, a hundred and twenty 
miles oil Pray for us, my friend, that we may have a safe going 
and return. It is a tremendous exploit, and I feel a thousand 
anxieties when I think of it. But a promise, made to him when 
he was here, that we would go if we could, and a sort of per- 
suasion that we can if we will, oblige us to it. The journey and 



WILLIAM COWPER. 365 

the change of air, together with the novelty to us of the scene 
to which we are going, may, I hope, be useful to us both ; espe- 
cially to Mrs. Unwin, who has most need of restoratives. She 
sends her love to you and to Thomas, in which she is sincerely 
joined by 

Your affectionate 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, July 30, 1792. 

Like you, I am obliged to snatch short opportunities of 
corresponding with my friends ; and to write what I can, not 
what I would. Your kindness in giving me the first letter after 
your return, claims my thanks; and my tardiness to answer it 
would demand an apology, if, having been here, and witnessed 
how much my time is occupied in attendance on my poor patient, 
you could possibly want one. She proceeds, I trust, in her re- 
covery ; but at so slow a rate, that the difference made in a week 
is hardly perceptible to me, who am aUvays with her. This 
last night has been the worst she has known since her illness — 
entirely sleepless till seven in the morning. Such ill rest seems 
but an indifferent preparation for a long journey, which we pur- 
pose to undertake on Wednesday, when we set out for Eartham, 
on a visit to Mr. Hayley. The journey itself will, I hope, be 
useful to her ; and the air of the sea, blowing over the South 
Downs, together with the novelty of the scene to us, will, I 
hope, be serviceable to us both. You may imagine that we, 
who have been resident on one spot so many years, do not en- 
gage in such an enterprise without some anxiety. Persons ac- 
customed to travel, would make themselves merry with mine -, 



3(j6 COURBSPONDBNCE Ol- 

it seems so disproportioned to the occasion. Once I have been 
on the point of determining not to j^o, and even since we fixed 
the day ; my troubles have been so insupportable. But it has 
been made a matter of much prayer, and at last it has pleased 
God to satisfy me, in some measure, that his will corresponds 
with our purpose, and that He will afford us his protection. You, 
I know, will not be unmindful of us during our absence from 
home ; but will obtain for us, if your prayers can do it, all that 
we would ask for ourselves — the presence and favour of God, a 
salutary effect of our journey, and a safe return. 

I rejoiced, and had reason to do so, in your coming to Wes- 
ton, for I think the Lord came with you. Not, indeed, to abide 
with me ; not to restore me to that intercourse with Him which 
I enjoyed twenty years ago ; but to awaken in me, however, 
more spiritual feeling than I have experienced, except in two 
instances, during all that time. The comforts that I had received 
under your ministry, in better days, all rushed upon my recol- 
lection ; and, during two or three transient moments, seemed to 
be in a degree renewed. You will tell me, that, transient as 
they were, they were yet evidences of a love that is not so; 
and I am desirous to believe it. 

With Mrs. Unwin's warm remembrances, and my cousin 
.Johnson's best compliments, I am 

Sincerely yours, 

W. C. 

p. S. — If I hear from you while I am abroad, your letter will 
lind me at William Hayley's, Esq., Eartham. near Chichester. 
We purpose to return in about a month. 



WILLIAM COWPEK. .36: 



TO MRS. CHARLOTTE SMITH. 



DEAR MADAM, Eartham, Sept. 1792. 

Your two counsellors are of one mind. We both are of 
opinion that you will do well to make your second volume a 
suitable companion to the first, by embellishing it in the same 
manner; and have no doubt, considering the well-deserved po- 
pularity of your verse, that the expense will be amply refunded 
by the public. 

I would give you. Madam, not my counsel only, but conso- 
lation also, were I not disqualified for that delightful service by 
a great dearth of it in m}^ own experience. I too often seek, 
but cannot find it. Of this, however, I can assure you, if that 
may at all comfort you, that both my friend Hayley and myself 
most truly sympathise with you under all your sufferings. 
Neither have you, I am persuaded, in any degree lost the in- 
terest you always had in him, or your claim to any service 
that it may be in his power to render you. Had you no other 
title to his esteem, his respect for your talents, and his feelings 
for your misfortunes, must insure to you the friendship of such 
a man for ever. I know, however, there are seasons when, 
look which way we will, we see the same dismal gloom enve- 
loping all objects. This is itself an afiliction ; and the worse, 
because it makes us think ourselves more unhappy than we are ; 
and at such a season it is, I doubt not, that you suspect a dimi- 
nution of our friend's zeal to serve you. 

I was much struck by an expression in your letter to Hayley, 
where you say that you " will endeavour to take an interest in 
green leaves again." This seems the sound of my own voice 
reflected to me from a distance. I have so often had the same 
thought and desire ; a day scarcely passes, at this season of the 



3G8 CORRESPONDENCE 01' 

year, when I do not contemplate the trees so soon to be stript, 
and say, " Perhaps I shall never see you clothed again." Every 
year, as it passes, makes this expectation more reasonable ; and 
the year with me cannot be very distant, when the event will 
verify it. Well, may God grant us a good hope of arriving in 
due time where the leaves never fall, and all will be right ! 

Mrs. Unwin, I think, is a Ijttle better than when you saw her ; 
but still so feeble as to keep me in a state of continual appre- 
hension. I live under the point of a sword suspended by a 
hair. Adieu, my dear Madam ; and believe me to remain your 
sincere aod affectionate humble servant, 

W. C. 



TO MRS. COURTENAY,* WESTON-UNDERWOOD. 

MY DEAR CATHARINA, Eartham, Sept. 10, 1792. 

I am not so uncourteous a knight as to leave your last 
kind letter, and the last I hope that I shall receive for a long 
time to come, without an attempt, at least, to acknowledge and 
to send you something in the shape of an answer to it ; but hav- 
ing been obliged to dose myself last night with laudanum, on 
account of a little nervous fever, to which I am always subject, 
and for which I find it the best remedy, I feel myself this 
morning particularly under the influence of Lethean vapours, 
and, consequently, in danger of being uncommonly stupid ! 

You could hardly have sent me intelligence that would have 
gratified me more than that of my two dear friends. Sir John 
and Lady Throckmorton, having departed from Paris two days 
before the terrible 10th of August. I have had many anxious 
thoughts on their account ; and am truly happy to learn that 

* Now Lady Throckmorton. 



WILLIAM COWPEK. 



869 



"they have sought a more peaceful region, while it was yet per- 
mitted them to do so. They will not, I trust, revisit those 
scenes of tumult and horror while they shall continue to merit 
that description. We are here all of one mind respecting the 
cause in which the Parisians are engaged ; wish them a free 
people, and as happy as they can wish themselves. But their 
conduct has not always pleased us : we are shocked at their 
sanguinary proceedings, and begin to fear, myself in particular, 
that they will prove themselves unworthy, because incapable of 
enjoying it, of the inestimable blessings of liberty. My daily 
toast isj Sobriety and freedom to the French ; for they seem as 
destitute of the former, as they are eager to secure the latter. 

We still hold our purpose of leaving Eartham on the 17th ; 
and again my fears on Mrs. Unwin's account begin to trouble 
me ; but they are not quite so reasonable as in the first instance. 
If she could bear the fatigue of travelling then, she is more 
equal to it at present ; and supposing that nothing happens to 
alarm her, which is very probable, may be expected to reach 
Weston in much better condition than when she left it. Her 
improvement, however, is chiefly in her looks, and in the arti- 
cles of speaking and walking ; for she can neither rise from her 
chair without help, nor walk without a support ; nor read, nor 
use her needles. Give my love to the good Doctor, and make 
him acquainted with the state of his patient, since he, of all 
men, seems to have the best right to know it. 

I am proud that you are pleased with the Epitaph I sent you, 
and shall be still prouder to see it perpetuated by the chisel. It 
is all that I have done since here I came, and all that I have 
been able to do. I wished, indeed, to have requited Romney 
for his well-drawn copy of me, in rhyme ; and have more than 
once or twice attempted it : but I find, like the man in the fa- 
ble, who could leap only at Rhodes, that verse is almost im- 

3 A 



370 COHRESPONIJENCE OF 

possible to me, except at Weston. — Tell my friend George thai 
I am every day mindful of him, and always love him ; and bid 
him by no means to vex himself about the tardiness of An- 
drews.* Remember me affectionately to William, and to Pit- 
cairn, whom I shall hope to find with you at my return ; and 
should you sec Mr. Buchanan, to him also. — I have now charged 
you with commissions enow, and having added ]Mrs. Unwin's 
best compliments, and told you that I long to sec you again. 
will conclude myself, 

My dear Catharina, 

Most truly yours. 

W. C. 



TO MRS. KING. 

MY DEAR MADAM, Oct. 14, 1792. 

Your kind enquiries after mine and Mrs. Unwin's health 
will not permit me to be silent ; though I am and have long 
been so indisposed to writing, that even a letter has almost 
overtasked me. 

Your last but one found me on the point of setting out for 
Sussex, whither I went with Mrs. Unwin, on a visit to my 
friend, Mr. Hayley. We spent si5c weeks at Eartham, and 
returned on the twentieth of September. I had hopes that 
change of air and change of scene might be serviceable both to 
my poor invalid and me. She, I hope, has received some be- 
nefit ; and I am not the worse for it myself; but, at the same 
time, must acknowledge that 1 cannot boast of much amend- 
ment. The time we spent there could not fail to pass as agree- 

• A stone-mason, who was making a pedestal for an antique bust of 
Homer. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 371 

ably as her weakness, and my spirits, at a low ebb, would per- 
mit. Hay ley is one of the most agreeable men, as well as one 
of the most cordial friends. His house is elegant ; his library 
large, and well chosen ; and he is surrounded by the most de- 
lightful scenery. But I have made the experiment only to 
prove, what indeed I knew before, that creatures are physicians 
of little value, and that health and cure are from God only. 
Henceforth, therefore, I shall wait for those blessings from 
Him, and expect them at no other hand. In the mean time, I 
have the comfort to be able to tell you that Mrs. Unvvin, on 
the whole, is restored beyond the most sanguine expectations I 
had when I wrote last ; and that, as to myself, it is not much 
otherwise with me than it has been these twenty years; ex- 
cept that this season of the year is always unfavourable to my 
spirits. 

I rejoice that you have had the pleasure of another interview 
with Mr. Martyn ; and am glad that the trifles I have sent you 
afforded him any amusement. This letter has already given 
you to understand, that I am at present no artificer of verse ; 
and that, consequently, I have nothing new to communicate. 
When I have, I shall do it to none more readily than to your- 
self. 

My dear Madam, 

Very affectionately yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAR FRIEND, Oct. 18, 1792. 

I thought that the wonder had been all on my side, hav- 
ing been employed in wondering at your silence, as long as you 



372 COKUESPONDENCE OF 

at mine. Soon after our arrival at Earlhani, 1 received a letter 
from you, which 1 answered, if not by the return of tlie post, 
at least in a day or two. Not that I should have insisted on the 
ceremonial of letter lor letter, during; so long; a period, could 1 
have found leisure to double your debt \ but while there, I had 
no oppDrtunily for writing, except now and then a short one; 
for wo breakfasted early, studied Milton as soon as breakfast 
was over, and continued in that employment till Mrs. Unwin 
came forth iVom her ciiamber, to whom all the rest of my time 
was necessarily devoted. Our return to Weston was on the 
nineteenth of last month, according; to your information. You 
will naturally think that, in the interval, I must have had suffi- 
cient leisure to "ive you notice of our safe arrival. But the fact 
must have been otherwise. 1 have neither been well myself, 
nor is Mrs. Unwin, thouij;h better, so much improved in her 
health, as not still to require my continual assistance. My dis- 
order has been tin- old one, to which 1 have been subject so 
many years, and especially about this season — a nervous fever ; 
not, inileed. so oppressive as it has sometimes proved, but suf- 
ficiently alarminji; both to Mrs. Ihiwin and myself, and such as 
maile it neither easy nor proper for me to make much use of my 
pen, while it continued. At present I am tolerably free from 
it ; a blessini; for which I believe myself partly indebted to the 
use of James's powder, in small quantities; and partly to a 
small quantity of laudanum, taken every nii;ht ; but chiefly to 
a manifestation of God's presence vouchsafed to me a few days 
since ; transient, indeed, ami dimly seen, throui;h a mist of 
many fears anil troubles, but sullicient to convince me, at least 
while the Enemy's power is a little restrained, that lie has not 
cast me oil" I'oi' ever. 

Our visit was a pleasant one; as pleasant as Mi's. Unwin'k 
weakness, and the state of my spirits, never very good, would 



WIIJ.IAM COWPER. 373 

allow. As to my own health, 1 ncvcM- expected that it would be 
much inn)roveil hy the journey ; nor iiavo I (bund it so. Some, 
benefit, indeed, 1 hoped ; and perhaps, a little more than 1 ibimd. 
But the season wiis, after the first fortnia;ht, extremely unfa- 
vourable, stormy and wet ; and the prospects, thouii;li grand and 
mai^nificent. yet rather of a melancholy cast, and consequently 
not very propitious to me. The cultivated aijpearance of Wes- 
ton suits my frame of mind far better than wild hills that aspire 
to be mountains, covered with vast unlVequented woods, and 
here and there afl'ording a peep between their summits at the 
distant ocean. Within doors all was hospitality and kindness, 
but the scenery wou/d have its ellect; and (hough delightful in 
the extreme to those who had spirits to bear it, w as too gloomy 
for me. 

Yours, my dear friend, 

Most sincerely, 

W. C. 



rO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. 

MY DEAUEST JOHNNY, Nov. 5, 1792. 

I have done nothing since you went, except (hat I have 
finished the Sonnet which 1 told you I had begun, and vsent it to 
Hayley, who is well pleased therewith, and hus by this time 
transmitted it to whom it most concerns.^ 

I would not give the algebraist sixpence for his encomiums 
oh my Task, if he condemns my Homer, which, I know, iu 
point of language is equal to it, and in variety of numbers supe- 
rior. But the character of the foinier having been some years 
established, he follows the general cry ; and should Homer es- 

• Sonnet to George Roniney, Esq. on liis picture of him in craj ons. 



374 COKUKSPONDENCE OF 

tablish himself as well, and I trust he will hereafter, I shall have 
his warm suffrage for that also. But if not — it is no matter. 
Swift says somewhere, — There are a few good judges of poetry 
in the world, who lend their taste to those who have none: and 
your man of figures is probably one of the borrowers. 

Adieu — in great haste. Our united love attends yourself and 
yours, whose I am most truly and affectionately, 

W. C. 



lO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Nov. 11, 1792. 

I am not so sensible of your kindness in making me an 
exception from the number of your correspondents, to whom 
you forbid the hope of hearing from you till your present la- 
bours are ended, as to make you wait longer for an answer to 
your last; which, indeed, would have had its answer before this 
time, had it been possible for me to write. But so many have 
demands upon me of a similar kind, and while Mrs. Unwin 
continues an invaliil, my opportunities of writing are so few, 
that I am constrained to incur a longarrear to some, with whom 
I would wish to be punctual. She can at present neither work 
nor read ; and till she can do both, and amuse herself as usual, 
my. own amusements of the pen must be suspended. 

I, like you, have a work before me, and a work to which I 
should be glad to address myself in earnest, but cannot do it at 
present. When the opportunity comes, I shall, like you, be 
under a necessity of interdicting some of my usual correspon- 
dents, and of shortening my letters to the excepted few. Many 
letters and much company are incompatible with authorship, and 
the one as niuch as the other. It will be long, I hope, before 



WILLIAM COWPER. 375 

the world is put in possession of a publication, which you design 
should be posthumous. 

Oh for the day when your expectations of my complete de- 
liverance shall be verified ! At present it seems very remote : 
so distant, indeed, that hardly the faintest streak of it is visible 
in my horizon. The glimpse with which I was favoured about 
a month since, has never been repeated ; and the depression of 
my spirits has. The future appears gloomy as ever ; and I seem 
to myself to be scrambling always in the dark, among rocks and 
precipices, without a guide, but with an enemy ever at my heels, 
prepared to push me headlong. Thus I have spent twenty years, 
but thus I shall not spend twenty years more. Long ere that 
period arrives, the grand question concerning my everlasting 
weal or woe will be decided. 

Adieu, my dear friend. I have exhausted my time, though 
not filled my paper. 

Truly yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Dec. 9, 1792. 

You need not be uneasy on the subject of Milton. I 
shall not find that labour too heavy for me, if I have health and 
leisure. The season of the year is unfavourable to me respect- 
ing the former ; and Mrs. Unwin's present weakness allows me 
less of the latter than the occasion seems to call for. But the 
business is in no haste. The artists employed to furnish the 
embellishments are not likely to be very expeditious ; and a 
small portion only of the work will be wanted from me at once ; 
for the intention is to deal it out to the public piece-meal. I am, 



376 CORRESPONDKNCE OK 

therefore, under no great anxiety on that account. It is not- 
indeed, an employment that I should have chosen for myself; 
because poetry pleases and amuses me more, and would cost me 
less labour properly so called. All this I felt before I engaged 
with Johnson ; and did, in the first instance, actually decline 
the service : but he v^^as urgent ; and, at last, I suffered myself 
to he persuaded. 

The season of the year, as I have already said, is particularly 
adverse to me : yet not in itself, perhaps, more adverse than 
any other; but the approach of it always reminds me of the 
same season in the dreadful seventy-three, and in the more dread- 
ful eighty-six. I cannot help terrifying myself with doleful 
misgivings and apprehensions; nor is the Enemy negligent to 
seize all the advantage that the occasion gives him. Thus, hear- 
ing much from him, and having little or no sensible support 
from God, I suffer inexpressible things till January is over. And 
even then, whether encreasing years have made me more liable 
to it, or despair, the longer it lasts, grows naturally darker, I 
find myself more inclined to melancholy than I was a few years 
since. God only knows where this will end ; but where it is 
likely to end, unless He interpose powerfully in my favour, all 
may know. 

I remain, my dear friend. 

Most sincerely yours, 

W. C. 



WILLIAM COWPEK. 377 

TO JOHN JOHNSON, ESQ. 

Jan. 31, 179.3. 
lo Psean ! 
My dearest JOHNNY, 

Even as you foretold, so it came to pass. On Tuesday 
I received your letter, and on Tuesday came the pheasants ; for 
which I am indebted in many thatiks, as well as Mrs. Unwin, 
both to your kindness and to your kind friend Mr. Copeman. 

In Copeman's ear this truth let Echo tell, — 
"Immortal bards like mortal pheasants well :" 
And when his clerkship's out, I wish him herds 
Of golden client's for his golden birds. 

Our friends the Courtenays, have never dined with us since their 
marriage, because we have never asked them ; and we have 
never asked them, because poor Mrs. Unwin is not so equal to 
the task of providing for and entertaining company as before 
this last illness. But this is no objection to the arrival here of 
a bustard ; rather it is a cause for which we shall be particularly 
glad to see the monster. It will be a handsome present to 
them. So let the bustard come, as the Lord Mayor of London 
said to the hare, when he was hunting, — let her come, a' God's 
name: I am not afraid of her. 

Adieu, my dear cousin and caterer. My eyes terribly bad ; 
else I had much more to say to you. 

Ever affectionately yours, 

W. C. 



3 B 



i78 CORRESPONDENCE 01 



TO JOSEIMI HILL, ESQ. 



MY DEAIl FIUEND, March 29, 179j. 

Your tidings concerning the slender pittance yet to come, 
.ue, as you observe, of the melancholy cast. Not being gifted 
by nature with the means of acquiring much, it is well, how- 
ever, that she has given me a disposition to be contented with 
little. I have now been so many years habituated to small mat- 
ters, that I should probably find myself incommoded by greater^ 
and may 1 but be enabled to shift, as I have been hitherto, un- 
satisfied wishes will never trouble me mucii. My pen has helped 
mo somewhat ; and after some years' toil, I begin to reap the 
benefit. Had I begun sooner, perhaps I should have known 
fewer pecuniary distresses ; or, who can say ? It is possible that 
1 might not liave succeeded so well. Fruit ripens only a short 
lime before it rots ; and man, in general, arrives not at maturity 
of mental powers at a inuch earlier period. I am now busied 
in preparing Homer for his second appearance. An author 
should consider himself as bound not to please himself, but the 
public ; and so far as the good pleasure of the public may be 
learned from llic critics, I design to accommodate myself to it. 
The Latinisms, though employed by Milton, and numbered by 
Addison among the arts and expedients by which he has given 
dignity to his style, I shall render into plain English; the 
roiio-hcr linos, though my reason for using them has never been 
proved a bad one, so far as 1 know, I shall make perfectly 
smooth ; and shall give body and substance to all that is in any 
degree feeble and flimsy. And when I have done all this, and 
more, if the critics still grumble. I shall say the very deuce is 
in them. Yet, that they will grumble, I make no doubt ; for, 
unn^asoiiable as it is to do so, they all require somctb.ing better 



WILLIAM COWPEU. 379 

ihan Homer, and that something thej'^ will certainly never o-et 
from me. 

As to the canal that is to be my neighbour, I hear little about 
it. The Courtenays of Weston have nothing to do with it, and 
I have no intercourse with Tyringham. When it is iinished, 
the people of these parts will have to carry their coals seven 
miles only, whicli now they bring from Northampton or Bed- 
ford, both at the distance of fit\een. But, as Balaam says, who 
shall live when these things are done? It is not forme, a sexa- 
genarian already, to expect that I shall. The chief objection to 
canals in general seems to be, that, multiplying as they do, they 
are likely to swallow the coasting trade. 

I cannot tell you the joy I feel at the disappointment of the 
French ; pitiful mimics of Spartan and Roman virtue, without 
a grain of it in their whole character. 

Ever yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE UEV. JOHN NEWTOJS'. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, April 25, 1793. 

Had it not been stipulated between us, that, being both 
at present pretty much engrossed by business, we should write 
when opportunity oflers, I should be frighted at the date of 
your last: but you will not judge me, I know, by the unfre- 
quency of my letters ; nor suppose that my thoughts about you 
are equally unfrequent. In truth, they are not. No day passes 
in which you are excluded from them. I am so busy that I do 
not expect even now to fill my paper. While I write, my poor 
invalid, w^ho is still unable to amuse herself either with book 
or needle, sits silent at my side ; which makes me, in all mv 



3S0 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

letters, hasten to a conclusion. My only time for study is now 
before breakfast; and I lengthen it as much as I can, by rising 
early. 

I know not that, with respect to our health, we are either 
better or worse than when you saw us. Mrs. Unwin, perhaps, 
has ji^ained a little strength ; and the advancing spring, I hope, 
will add to it. As to m3'Self, I am, in body, soul, and spirit, 
scmjjcr idem. Prayer, 1 know, is made for me; and some- 
times with great enlargement of heart, by those who offer it ; 
and in this circumstance consists the only evidence I can find, 
that God is still favourably mindful of me, and has not cast me 
off for ever. 

A long time since, I received a parcel from Dr. Cogshall, of 
New York ; and, looking on the reverse of the packing-paper, 
saw there an address to you. I conclude, therefore, that you 
received it first, and at his desire transmitted it to me ; conse- 
quently you are acquainted with him, and, probably, apprised 
of the nature of cur correspondence. About three years ago I 
had his first letter to me, which came accompanied by half a 
dozen American publications. He proposed an exchange of 
books on religious subjects, as likely to be useful on both sides 
of the water. Most of those he sent, however, I had seen be- 
fore. I sent him, in return, such as I could get; but felt my- 
self indifferently qualified for such a negotiation. I am now 
called upon to contribute my quota again ; and shall be obliged 
to you if, in your next, you will mention the titles of half a 
dozen that may be procured at little cost, that are likely to be 
new in that country, and useful. 

About two months since, I had a letter from Mr. Jeremiah 
Waring, of Alton in Hampshire. Do you know such a man? 
I think I have seen his name in advertisements of mathematical 
works. He j:s. hcvcvcr, or seems to be, a very pious man. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 3S1 

I was a little surprised lately, seeing in the last Gentleman's 
Magazine a letter from somebody at Winchester, in which is a 
copy of the epitaph of our poor friend Unwin : an English, not 
a Latin one. It has been pleasant to me sometimes to think, 
that his dust lay under an inscription of my writing ; which I 
had no reason to doubt, because the Latin one, which I compo- 
sed at the request of the executors, was, as I understood from 
Mr. H. Thornton, accepted by them and approved. If they 
thought, after all, that an English one, as more intelligible, 
would therefore be preferable, I believe they judged wisely ; 
but having never heard that they had changed their mind about 
it, 1 was at a loss to account for the alteration. 

So now, my dear friend, adieu ! — When I have thanked you 
for a barrel of oysters, and added our united kind remembrances 
to yourself, and Miss Catlett, I shall have exhausted the last 
moment that I can spare at present. 

I remain sincerely yours, 

W. C. 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, June 12, 179o. 

You promise to be contented with a short line, and it 
short one you must have, hurried over in the little interval \ 
have happened to find between the conclusion of my mornmg 
task and breakfast. Study has this good effect, at least : it makes 
me an early riser, who might otherwise, perhaps, be as much 
given to dozing as my readers. 

The scanty opportunity I have, I shall employ in telling you 
what you principally wish to be told — the present state of mine 
and Mrs. Unwin's health. In her I cannot perceive any altera- 



.382 CORRESPONDENCE OF 

tion for the better; and must be satisfied, I believe, as indeed I 
have great leason to be, if she does not alter for the worse. She 
uses the orchard-walk daily, but always supported between two. 
and is still unable to employ herself as formerly. But she is 
cheerful, seldom in much pain, and has always strong confidence 
in the mercy and faithfulness of God. 

As to myself, 1 have always the same song to sing — Well in 
body, but sick in spirit: sick, nigh unto death. 

Seasons return, but not to me returns 
God, or the sweet approach of heavenly day. 
Or sight of cheering truth, or pardon seal'd, 
Or joy, or hope, or Jesus' face divine ; 
But cloud. Sec. 

I could easily set my complaint to Milton's tone, and accompany 
him through the whole passage, on the subject of a blindness 
more deplorable than his ; but time fails me. 

I feel great desire to see your intended publication ; a desire 
which the manner in which Mr. Bull speaks of it, who called 
here lately, has no tendency to aTlay. I believe I forgot to thank 
you for your last poetical present : not because I was not much 
pleased with it, but I write always in a hurry, and in a hurry 
must now conclude myself, with our united love. 
Yours, my dear friend, 

Most sincerely, 

W. C. 



10 THE KEV. JOHN JOHNSON. 

MY DEARES r JOHNNY, Aug, 2, 1T93. 

The Bishop of Norwich has won my heart by his kind 
and liberal behaviour to you ; and, if I knew him, I would tell 
him so. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 3S3 

I am glad that your auditors find your voice strong and your 
utterance distinct ; glad, too, that your doctrine has hitherto made 
you no enemies. You have a gracious Master, who, it seems, 
will not suffer you to see war in the beginning. It will be a 
wonder, however, if you do not, sooner or later, find out that sore 
place in every heart which can ill endure the touch of apostolic 
doctrine. Somebody will smart in his conscience, and you will 
liear of it. I say not this, my dear Johnny, to terrify, but to 
prepare you for that which is likely to happen, and which, trou- 
blesome as it may prove, is yet devoutly to be wished ; for, in 
general,.<here is little good done by preachers till the world be- 
gins to abuse them. But understand me aright. I do not mean 
that you should give them unnecessary provocation, by scolding 
and railing at them, as some, more zealous than wise, are apt to do. 
That were to deserve their anger. No ; there is no need of it. 
The self-abasing doctrines of the gospel, will, of themselves, 
create you enemies ; but remember this, for your comfort — they 
will also, in due time, transform them into friends, and make 
them love you, as if they were your own children. God give 
you many such ; as, if you are faithful to his cause, I trust he 
will ! 

Sir John and Lady Throckmorton have lately arrived in Eno-- 
land, and are now at the Hall. They have brought me from 
Rome a set of engravings on Odyssey subjects, by Flaxman, 
whom you have heard Hayley celebrate. They are fine, very 
much in the antique style, and a present from the Dowager Ladv 
Spencer. 

Ever yours. 

W. C. 



334 CORRESPONDENCE OF 



TO THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 



MY DEAR FRIEND, Weston, Oct. 22, 1793, 

You are very kind to apologize for a siiort letter, instead 
of reproaching me with having been so long entirely silent I 
persuaded myself, however, that while you were on your journey, 
you would miss me less as a correspondent than you do when 
you are at home, and therefore allowed myself to pursue my 
literary labours only, but still purposing to write as soon as I 
should have reason to judge you returned to London. Hin- 
drances, however, to the execution even of that purpose, have 
interposed ; and at this moment I write in the utmost haste, as 
indeed I always do, partly because I never begin a letter till I 
am already fatigued with study, and partly through fear of inter- 
ruption before I can possibly finish it. 

I rejoice that you have travelled so much to your satisfaction. 
As to me, my travelling days, I believe, are over. Our journey 
of last year was less beneficial, both to Mrs. Unwin's health and 
my spirits, than I hoped it might be ; and we arc hardly rich 
enough to migrate in quest of pleasure merely. 

I thank you much for your last publication, which I am read- 
ing, as fast as I can snatch opportunity, to Mrs. Unwin. We 
have found it, as far as we have gone, both interesting and 
amusing ; and 1 never cease to wonder at the fertility of your 
invention, that, shut up as you were in your vessel, and disu- 
nited from the rest of mankind, could yet furnish you with such 
variety, and with the means, likewise, of saying the same thing 
in so many difl'erent ways.* 

Sincerely yours, W. C. 

' The publication alluded to is entitled, " Letters to a Wife ; written 
during tiircc voyages to Africa, from 1750 to 1754. By the Author of Car- 
diphonia." 



WILLIAM COWPEK. 3S5 



TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 



Dec. 10, 1793- 
You mentioned, my dear friend, in your last letter, an 
unfavourable sprain that you had received, which you appre- 
hended might be very inconvenient to you for some time to 
come ; and having learned also from Lady Hesketh the same 
unwelcome intelligence, in terms still more alarming than those 
in which you related the accident yourself, I cannot but be 
anxious, as well as my cousin, to know the present state of it ; 
and shall truly rejoice to hear that it is in a state of recovery. 
Give us a line of information on this subject, as soon as you can 
conveniently, and you will much oblige us. 

I write by morning candle-light ; my literary business oblig- 
ing me to be an early riser. Homer demands me : finished, 
indeed, but the alterations not transcribed ; a work to which I 
am now hastening as fast as possible. The transcript ended, 
which is likely to amount to a good sizeable volume, I must 
write a new preface ; and then farewell to Homer for ever ! 
And if the remainder of my days be a little gilded with the pro- 
fits of this long and laborious work, I shall not regret the time 
that I have bestowed on it. 

I remain, my dear friend, 

Afiectionately yours, 

w. c. 

Can you give us any news of Lord Howe's Armada ; con- 
cerning which we may enquire, as our forefathers did of the 
Spanish, — " An in coelum sublata sit, an in Tartarum depressa ?" 

THE END. 
3 c 




-•'i.V , 



'^mma 



rL!"N 



^^mhhr\ 



\f\t\f\f^m 



f^^^i'^mfi^;^^^^' 



■/^v^M' 



'\A 



MM 



\f\f\.j 



f!^tAi^ 




m 









Mf^M 






^««;^'^,: 






'A- 11: 






T 






^ A /^/ 



If 







^/^..*i 




Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent; Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date March 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township. PA 16066 
(724)779-2111 







a^l 



:,a. 



-nr^n^r^^ 



^ 



iPf^ r^^^ mm^^mn 






W#' 



